


Weird Fucking Day

by BootsnBlossoms, jadinacookie, rayvanfox



Series: The Mundanes [3]
Category: The Mundanes, The Mundanes (Queer Urban Magic Universe)
Genre: Canon Queer Character, Canon Queer Character of Color, Gen, Nonbinary Character, Original Fandom, Original Fiction, Original Universe, Panic Attacks, Past Relationship(s), Queer Families, Queer Urban Magic, Trans Male Character, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 14:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 26,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6119125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BootsnBlossoms/pseuds/BootsnBlossoms, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadinacookie/pseuds/jadinacookie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayvanfox/pseuds/rayvanfox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which collisions of both a physical and emotional nature occur, copious amounts of caffeine are drunk, everyone's overwhelmed, and somehow they're more connected than they first thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is The Mundanes Queer Urban Magic Universe, that [Boots](http://bootsnblossoms.tumblr.com) and [Jade (the-oxford-english-fangeek)](http://the-oxford-english-fangeek.tumblr.com) and [I](http://zooeyscigar.tublr.com) \- along with lots of other folks - have accidentally created. It started out as some random text post, then it became an exercise, and then it snowballed into something else entirely.
> 
> [The origin story is here.](http://themundanes.tumblr.com/post/135794511674/ok-but-what-is-this-the-mundanes-thing-im) Make sure to check out the blog to read shorter stories, see faceclaims, and find inspiration: [The Mundanes](http://themundanes.tumblr.com).

It took Tia a minute to figure out where they were going. This wasn’t a path she and Ambrose had followed before, as far as she could tell. But, well, she didn’t feel at her best at the moment. Three days ago, after they’d left the house on Pilsen, a headache had started gathering at the base of her skull. The next day it bloomed into the distracting, painful throb she’d come to think of as a Sight hangover. Too much use in one short night meant that now the auras were all blurry and useless. The rest of the world, too. They could be traveling a road they’d walked a thousand times and Tia wouldn’t notice.

She hadn’t mentioned the headache to Ambrose. He would get all over-protective and refuse to take her back to Pilsen, and that was an unacceptable outcome. He loved it there as much as she did. The starry-eyed look he got whenever he mentioned anything to do with Jess or Fox or Quinn in particular was a dead give-away.

Ambrose’s forward motion stopped at a corner that felt familiar, and Tia squinted to get a sense of place.

“Really?!” she squeaked. She grabbed his hand and bounced on her toes when she spotted their destination. “The cafe?”

“Could use a cup of coffee,” Ambrose rumbled.

“Admit it. You miss them.”

Ambrose harrumphed, but a smile ticked at the corner of his mouth.

Tia turned to grin at him and ran face-first into a newspaper box.

“You sure you’re all right?” Ambrose asked. “You’ve been off all day. Wearing your sunglasses, avoiding eye contact with people, running into things. Maybe today’s not a good idea.” He tried to put a hand on her forehead, but Tia batted it away.

“There’s never a bad day to hang out with the pack!” Tia said, rubbing the hip she’d smacked against the metal. That was going to be a beautiful bruise. And yeah, maybe the newspaper box hadn’t been the first casualty of the day. Maybe she’d had a close call with a shiny black Camaro and a bike messenger on their way over, too. But... whatever. No one ever complimented her for her grace.

The door jangled especially loudly when Tia sort of banged into the coffee shop, and Fox called from the back, “Mouse!” After a moment, they peeked their head around the doorway to the kitchen, adding, “Ambrose, hey! I’ll be right out.”

Tia narrowed her eyes and tried to see the waves of Fox’s gift around their face through the tint of her sunglasses. They’d known it was her and Ambrose before they’d come in, presumably by scent, but she just couldn’t see it. The world wobbled a little bit and Tia shook her head.

“Is it just you?” she called out. She was tempted to chase Fox into the kitchen to see what they were up to, but that was probably a health code violation or something.

“Yep. El has class and Cam’s on a supplies run.” They came back out from the kitchen a moment later, wiping their hands on a dishtowel, a warm smile across their face. “Great timing though, Quinn’s on his way. Should be here any minute.”

“Yay!” Tia grinned, then peered around them. “Could you ask if I could come in the kitchen some day? Not to try and cook or anything. I just wanna see.”

Fox grinned. “As long as your hair is tied back and you’re wearing close-toed shoes — and you wash your hands — you can come back. There’s not much to see, though.” They stepped forward and nodded at Ambrose. “Can I make you something, big guy?”

“I think Tia needs something without caffeine,” Ambrose replied. Tia rolled her eyes and flopped into a chair facing Fox.

“And he’ll have a cup of coffee,” she sighed, thumbing at Ambrose, “because he’s boring like that.”

Ambrose swatted at Tia, who laughed and swatted back. Then something occurred to her and she narrowed her eyes at Ambrose.

“Wait,” she asked. “Doesn’t chocolate have caffeine in it?”

His innocent look wasn’t at all convincing.

 “Don’t listen to him!” Tia said, bouncing up from her chair. “All the chocolaty caffeine goodness! With whip cream, please.” She batted her eyelashes at Fox, though the tongue she stuck out at Ambrose might have ruined the effect.

Snickering adorably, Fox rolled their eyes at both of them, then turned away to the espresso machine. “You’ll get what I give you, kiddos.” Before grinding the beans, however, they brought their forearm up to their face. Tia thought at first they were wiping their nose, but it was more just pressing the tip of their nose to the skin for a moment, just long enough to take a deep breath and let it out.

Tia turned to see if Ambrose had noticed, but just at that moment, the door rang as it opened, and Quinn hopped in. His face registered surprise and delight in equal measure, and the room seemed to dim in the sudden bright expansion of his aura. Tia almost turned her head away just to help her eyes, but she was just too damn pleased. She pounced on him with the best hug she could manage with her tiny arms.

“I missed you! And I couldn’t hug Fox because that’s probably against kitchen rules, ‘cause germs, but hi!!!!!”

“Hi, Mouse! It’s so good to see you!” Quinn hugged her back tightly, like a real friend. When he pulled away, he had the sweetest concerned face. “Fox and I have been wondering where you’ve been sleeping the past few nights. Jess says you’re fine and everything, but still.”

“Oh, you know,” Tia shrugged, casting a glance at Ambrose. He didn’t shake his head, but Tia got the message loud and clear anyway. Ambrose may trust Quinn and Fox, but some things were just too habitual. Sleeping spots were vulnerable. “Here and there. It hasn’t snowed yet, but we picked up some carrots yesterday in case an opportune moment for snowpeople-making happens.”

“Hi Quinn,” Ambrose interjected, his smile soft and pleased.

“Hey, Ambrose.” Quinn managed to head toward him in a way that drew Tia along instead leaving her out, but when they got close, Quinn seemed to get shy. He tugged off his hat, then looked down at it in his hands and said, “Missed you.”

This was something Tia didn’t get. Why didn’t romantic types just say what they meant? Even Tia, who thought mixing friendship and sex was distasteful, could spot romantic attraction when it was right in front of her. Quinn and Ambrose were hovering around each other without saying much, an unsubtle but effective form of hiding. Screw that. Affection was meant to be lively and unequivocal.

“Missed you, too,” Ambrose said.

Tia flopped into the chair across from him, leaving the space in between her and Ambrose open.

“Hey, what am I, chopped liver? _I_ missed you an hour ago.” Fox’s voice was teasing and fond, not, as far as Tia could tell, at all jealous, even if they seemed to be staking their claim. _So weird._ “C’mere,” they added, with a sweet smile.

Quinn was about to sit down, but instead rolled his eyes and walked to the counter where Fox was leaning over it. He grinned when he got close, fondness in his eyes. “Hey, sweetheart.”

Fox rubbed noses with Quinn. It was an excessively cute gesture. Tia wanted to dive in and wiggle noses, too, but, well. She’d cleaned up before she got here (baby wipes were big miracles in tiny packages), but she didn’t want to test Fox’s nose. “What do you want, babe? A mocha like last time?”

Quinn nodded and then pointed to the mug near Fox’s elbow. Fox pushed it forward and said, “That’s for Ambrose.” When Quinn walked back to the table with a smile on his face and the drink for Ambrose in his hand, Fox watched him with a sly grin.

“Thank you,” Ambrose said, taking the mug from Quinn. He even let his fingers brush Quinn’s a little, and Tia bit her tongue. Then he took a drink and seemed to sink into his chair in a pile of melty happiness. “Is that…” Ambrose’s eyes widened as he looked up at Fox. “Is that Astragalus Root?”

“Yeah?” Fox stopped what they were doing, inhaled deeply, and frowned. “Cam says it’s got an inoffensive taste, but it’s a good protective herb? I dunno. I can make you something else...”

“No!” Ambrose interrupted, his wide-eyed stare now as close to heart eyes as Tia thought she’d ever seen in real life. “It’s perfect.” He took a drink of the concoction and settled back into his chair with a sloppy, pleased grin. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, dear.” Fox turned away, still smiling, to work on the other drinks. Quinn sat between Ambrose and Tia and gave her an inquisitive smile.

Tia shrugged, eyes downcast to try and rein in the sensory input. She couldn’t quite look at Quinn head on, so she leaned against his side and watched Fox work. “I want to do something fun today. Any ideas?”

“Too cold for the park...” Quinn mused absently. “A movie? A museum?”

Fox approached the table with two mugs that had whipped cream on top, and set them in front of Tia and Quinn. “It's sunny out. You could always take an elevated tour.”

Quinn saw Tia’s quizzical face and clarified, “Take one of the el train lines that goes through the pretty parts of town, and go all the way to the end and back.”

“Whoa, that would be cool!” Tia said. She was familiar with most trains in town, but tended not to take them. They were warm but expensive and never really ran anywhere she wanted to go. They went in predictable (boring) lines and circles. If she went with Quinn and actually paid attention to the sights, it could be fun. Exciting, even. As long as…

She shot Quinn a look and ducked her head close to his ear. “They don’t have a bulletin board with mug shots of gate hoppers, do they? Like, uh, _CTA’s Most Wanted_ or something, right?”

“My card has enough on it for two rides,” Quinn whispered back with a smile, nudging Tia’s shoulder with his own. He looked over at Ambrose and added, “And I bet Fox would lend their card to you, big guy.” Fox nodded immediately, leaning heavily against the back of Quinn’s chair.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been on an el train,” Ambrose said, tilting his head as he considered it. Tia bit her lip in a poor attempt not to snort. Of course he hadn’t. Probably something about feeling too exposed without enough exits. He’d been in Chicago for a while, but Tia was willing to bet that his experience with it didn’t vary much from their constant grounded wandering.

“Would that be okay?” Tia asked him. She reached out and rested her fingertips on his arm. “We can do something else.”

Ambrose’s jaw flexed, but she could see the way he glanced at Fox and Quinn. His mind was already made up.

“I’ve always wondered what some of the building names are,” he said.

“That you’ll have to look up on your phone for him, Q.” Fox tapped Quinn’s shoulder with his knuckles. “Jess knows all that stuff from volunteering at the Architecture Foundation, but without them...” They shrugged, then moved away from the table back toward the counter.

“You’re not coming?” Tia asked. Fox was inseparable from Quinn in her mind. QuinnandFox. QuinnandFoxandTia. Remembering all three of them curled up on the couch, laughing and rolling around and playing cards made her flush with happy memories.

Fox turned when they reached the counter and gave Tia a soft smile. “I’ve gotta work, Mouse. For another few hours at least. Cam might take over for me when he gets back, but I can’t count on it.” They shrugged as if everything were fine and pointed to the table. “Don’t let your drink get cold, dear.”

Tia frowned and narrowed her eyes at Fox. Her Sight was still wonky, so she couldn’t get any more specific readings off them, but it didn’t take magic to see they weren’t happy with the prospect of being left behind.

“Trains run all day and all night,” she shrugged. Then an idea slammed into her, clear in its perfection, and she hopped up out of her chair. “We can play a game! Do you have any games here? We can go get one if you don’t.”

“You don’t have to wait around for me. It’s beautiful out. And an elevated tour isn’t fun at night when you can’t see the buildings,” Fox protested.

Quinn cautiously said, “I bet we could find a game, though, if that’s what you want.” Fox frowned at him, but Quinn ignored the look. “Your call, Tia.”

“Oh, please,” Tia said without hesitation. “Like that’s even a hard choice. We spend _all_ our time outside, beautiful or not. Yeah, the city is pretty, but not nearly as awesome as spending time with you.”

Fox stared at her for a moment, then their face broke open into a huge smile. “You’re a fucking sweetheart, Mouse. Thanks.” They nodded gratefully and ducked their head as they turned away, doing that weird arm-sniff again.

“Okay, well...?” Quinn seemed to be searching for something to say. “I think there might be a couple games here, over on that bookshelf near the couch, or we can go to the dollar store and see if we can find something fun.”

“Lemme look,” Tia said. She grabbed Ambrose’s hand and tugged him up despite his grunt of protest. She’d noticed him noticing Fox’s quirk, too, so she just needed a sec to talk to him about it. She bet it had something to do with staving off the kind of overstimulation that was wrecking her skull at the moment.

“You know how to play these, right?” Ambrose asked, waving at the little stack of games on the bookshelf. “Those centers you used to stay at were filled with board games.”

“I can turn pretty much anything into a game piece,” Tia agreed cheerfully. The bookshelf was stacked with the usual suspects: Life, Monopoly, Outburst… all games Tia hated with a passion. Oh yeah. She and Quinn were gonna have to hit up the dollar store. “The thing with Fox, though.”

“I saw,” Ambrose nodded. “You said their gift is scent, right?”

Tia nodded and pretended to be engrossed in the stack of games. Settlers of Catan. Risk. Oh _hell_ no.

“I bet they’ve never been taught control measures,” Ambrose mused. “They probably get overwhelmed, and try to ground themself by staying rooted in their own scent.”

Tia cocked her head and raised her eyebrows.

“Yeah, I can help.”

“Hooray!” Tia laughed. The outburst was louder than she wanted to be, but no one seemed to notice. A relief, since she didn’t want to have to pretend to be excited about one of these stupid games. “Quinn and I will leave for a while to buy a new game. You can talk to Fox then?”

“You don’t have to go,” Ambrose objected.

“Don’t get anxious on me now,” Tia warned. “The dollar store is just a block away and I know you’ve been cru —”

The sentence remained unfinished because Ambrose curled a hand over Tia’s mouth. “They’re not hard of hearing, and you’re not as good at whispering as you think you are.”

Tia hoped her waggling eyebrows looked as unimpressed as she felt.

After a moment, Ambrose sighed. “Fine.”

“Fine,” Tia agreed when he removed his hand. “These games _suck_ ,” she announced to the room in general.

Fox’s head appeared from behind the espresso machine, a thoughtful frown on their face. “Huh. Sorry...”

Quinn was quick to ask, “Should we go look at the store? Maybe we can find something silly to play with.”

“Yes, please!” Tia patted her jacket to check for her wallet — well, coin purse stuffed with the gains of their latest conquest. Their most recent spoils were from an asshole who kicked a cat into the street, and the twenty bucks they kept were hardearned. “The sillier, the better.”

“Great.” Quinn stood up and patted his pockets. “You wanna come with, Ambrose?”

“No thanks,” Ambrose said. He wrapped his big hands around his mug and gave Fox a smile. “But don’t pick anything with charades,” he added after a moment, eyes narrowed at Tia. “I’m serious.”

Tia rolled her eyes. “You’re no fun.”

“You know what’s no fun?” Ambrose said, raising an eyebrow. “Knocking you all over like bowling pins because I’m trying to mime something ridiculous.”

Quinn giggled as he tugged on his hat. “I dunno, full-contact charades sounds like a fun way to spend the afternoon, eh, Fox?”

From behind the espresso machine, Fox said, “I prefer strip poker, but that’s just me.” Their voice sounded amused, but also sort of seductive, which was new.

“Hmmmm,” Ambrose hummed appreciatively. He leaned back and let one long arm spread out onto the back of the chair Tia had just vacated. “You haven’t seen my tattoo yet, have you?”

Fox made a cute little curious/interested sound and poked their head around a coffee bean hopper to arch an eyebrow at Ambrose. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“He’s already seen yours, Fox.” Quinn’s smile only curled up one side of his face. “You show it off all the time with that habit of pushing up your sleeves.”

“I’m proud of it,” Fox said with a hint of defensiveness in their good-humored voice. “It’s a little bit of you, and I love it.”

Quinn rolled his eyes fondly and smiled at Tia. “Don’t mind that one, Mouse. They’ll keep us here all day with their nonsense, and then we’ll never find a good game to play. Let’s go.”

Calling after them like a mother hen, Fox said, “Love is not nonsense, cub. And don’t freeze out there!”

“Please,” Tia said with a careless roll of her eyes. “As if _that_ would happen.” Then she groaned at the spike of pain rolling her eyes sent spearing through her brain, and she reached out to grasp Quinn’s hand. “Um, Quinn, lead the way?”

“Of course, baby. Are you okay?” Quinn held both her hand and her elbow as he gently steered her toward the door. After a moment he stopped, adding, “Maybe we shouldn’t go?”

“Ugh,” Tia exhaled, releasing Quinn’s hand with a dramatic flail. “You and Ambrose. I’m fine! It’s just a headache.” She turned to glare at Quinn, only to deflate with repentance as soon as she saw his wounded expression. She snuggled back up to him and wrapped an apologetic arm around his waist. “Sorry. That wasn’t fair. I can be cranky when I have a headache.”

Quinn hugged her back and spoke gently. “Will caffeine fix it? You never drank any of your cocoa. Or I can find you some painkillers in the back.” He looked legitimately worried.

“You’re the sweetest.” Tia nuzzled his shoulder, delighted that someone other than Ambrose cared enough to get that cute little concerned wrinkle between their eyes. “I wish those things helped, but they won’t. It’s a —” she cleared her throat and cast a conspiratorial glance around to check how close normals were “— Sight thing. Nothing I’ve tried makes it go away. And I’ve tried everything.”

Frowning, Quinn said in an undertone, “We should talk to Jess about it. They might be able to help, if not with body work, maybe with a charm or something?” He looked over at the counter where Fox was helping a customer, weaving their own kind of effortless charm, which seemed to always result in a big tip. “We can figure it out, Mouse. Don’t worry.”

Tia kissed his cheek and tugged him towards the front door. _She_ wasn’t worried in the slightest. It was Ambrose and Quinn who were fretting like adorable overprotective… whatever things in life were overprotective and adorable. Cats maybe? Who knew. But she’d lived with this ache her entire life, and it really wasn’t _that_ bad. But she figured it was best not to point that out.

“No harm in asking,” she shrugged. “Lead the way, handsome.”

 

~~~

 

“Hey big guy, come up here and sit by me,” Fox said with a welcoming smile when Tia and Quinn had made their way outside. They gestured toward the couple of stools at the counter. “Do you need another drink?”

“No thanks,” Ambrose said with a shrug. He pulled himself up from his chair with an easy grace that belied his size and walked up to the counter. His gaze was oddly intent, searching and evaluating, as he settled on the barstool to gaze at Fox. “How has work been?”

Fox huffed ruefully. How to answer that question without talking Ambrose’s ear off... “Okay. Not bad. But _man,_ there was a learning curve. Cam’s great and has been a huge help, but...” He smiled and shrugged dismissively.

“You seem… a little overwhelmed,” Ambrose ventured. He ducked his head to look at his hands, which he moved to fold over each other on the counter. He took a steady breath, then met Fox’s gaze again, expression concerned and somber. “And not by the work itself, I mean.”

“What would I be...” Fox was distracted by the couple near the window taking off their cold, woolen coats, then they noticed that the soy milk had been left out on the counter long enough to warm up, so they reached out to cap it and put it away. On the way to the fridge below the counter they had to hold their breath though, because passing the rack of syrup bottles was a bit too... _Oh. Right._ They turned and smiled at Ambrose with another shrug. “Maybe a bit. I didn’t really think about _that_ when I asked for a job in food service.”

“Tia has a similar problem. It’s like the gifted version of overstimulation. It’s pretty common for our kind who have enhanced senses.” He looked around at the mostly empty coffee shop, eyes falling to the shaggy orange rug on the floor in the middle of a bunch of overstuffed chairs. “Will it be quiet for a little while? Do you have a moment?”

“A moment for what?” Fox said, looking around to make sure everyone in the coffee shop seemed content. They glanced back at Ambrose with a grin. “You know I’ve always got a moment for you, big guy.”

Ambrose’s smile was wide and genuine, and when he stood, he reached for Fox’s hand without hesitation. “I can help,” he promised. “Well, probably. I can’t really help Tia because she has the attention span of a canary, but something tells me you’ll be better at this.”

“At _what,_ Ambrose?” Fox asked, though of course they gave Ambrose their hand immediately. “I can’t leave my post...”

“Two minutes,” Ambrose promised. He led Fox down the length of the counter towards the little swinging door that would let them out. “Your employers are gifted, right? They won’t mind. Your head will be happier and I’m certain that will lead to an increase in productivity. And I’ll keep an eye out in case any customers go up to the counter.” He smiled, confident and reassuring, and squeezed Fox’s hand. “Please?”

Fox’s resolve crumbled in the face of such a charming Ambrose. It was a side of him they’d never seen, and it was beautiful. They shook their head, smiling up at him. “Yes, all right. Of course.”

Ambrose smiled like he’d won the lottery and guided Fox to the rug. He pressed gently on Fox’s shoulder, encouraging them to sit. Fox did what was being asked, but felt a bit foolish sitting on the floor of the coffee shop. Ambrose took a couple steps and settled across from them. He folded himself down into a cross-legged position, surprisingly graceful and fluid, knees knocking against Fox’s. He settled his hands, palms up, on his knees, then watched placidly, clearly waiting for Fox to follow suit.

“Meditation?” Fox asked incredulously. _Goddess._ Fox hoped Cam or El wouldn’t walk in on this little session. Nervously, they brought their arm to their nose to block out all outside scents with their own before following Ambrose’s example.

“Good,” Ambrose approved. “Don’t move.” He didn’t follow his own advice, though, and pulled a keychain-sized marker out of his back pocket. “I always keep one of these with me for sigils. I’m not very good at them, but someone a long time ago showed me one that is incredibly useful.” He held up the marker and raised an eyebrow. “May I? It will be small and discreet, on the inside of your wrist. And we can wash it off if it doesn’t help.”

Fox looked pointedly down at their compass tattoo, squarely in the center of their forearm and very obvious with how their shirtsleeves were pushed up, then looked back up at Ambrose. “I promise I don’t care about discreet, big guy. But what’s the sigil for?”

“Well,” Ambrose started. The tips of his ears seemed to grow darker and redder, and Fox realized Ambrose was blushing. “It’s not what you might think it is. I know it looks like…” Ambrose coughed and looked up at Fox through his eyelashes. He was silent for a moment as he sketched a quick little symbol on the inside of Fox’s left wrist. It was an abstract little design with several loops and round edges, and it looked more like a stylized A than anything else. “It means anchor.”

Smiling at the ink, then up at Ambrose, Fox couldn’t help asking, “You worried I’m gonna think you’re marking your territory? I was pretty sure you’d already made your preference known. Quinn’s a sweetheart.”

“That’s not… I don’t…” Ambrose stumbled over his words, but his grip didn’t falter. “He’s amazing, but so are you,” he replied, quiet and confident. “And I don’t know how long we’re going to stay, so I don’t think I should…” He shrugged and released Fox’s hand with a satisfied noise. “I’ll sketch this on paper for you, too, so you can learn how to do it yourself.”

“Please don’t go away.” Fox touched Ambrose’s knee with their newly freed hand. “Please trust that we’re all safe here and don’t leave us. We lo— all of us care about you and Tia, and...” They were pushing too much. Standard problem, but no less harmful for being frequent. Ambrose was skittish, and Fox was generally too enthusiastic for pretty much anyone but Tia. And Quinn. They shook their head and looked back down at the sigil on their wrist. “Thanks.”

With a hum, Ambrose tucked the pen back into his pocket. “This is part of the design in my tattoo,” he said, clearly not ready to engage with Fox on any of their reassurances. He looked apologetic but firm. “The first time we do this together, it will be powerful. You’ll be tapping into my power, the power of the working on my back. But that’s just to help you understand what we’re learning to do. It’s a destimulation, meditative exercise. Once you get the hang of it, it can get you through hours of painful excess without you having to feel any of it.”

That sounded... kind of amazing. Fox wondered if they would be able to feel something happening to their body, or their sense of smell, or if it would be more like a massage from Jess — subtly healing without you quite realizing it. They nodded at Ambrose, frowning thoughtfully. “Okay, but so... Will I have to do this _at_ work? Or can I do it before or after?”

“It will be different for you than for me,” Ambrose said. He reached out to tangle his fingers with Fox’s and pressed his thumb to the inside of Fox’s wrist. He pressed right over their pulse point, the middle of the little sigil. “It’s different for everyone. You’ll figure out what works.” He rubbed a soothing line over their wrist and looked up. “Ready?”

Fox shivered at the touch of someone new — one of the best little pleasures in life — and memorized the feeling of calloused thumbs on such sensitive skin. Their voice came out softer and higher than they meant it to when saying, “Yeah. Yeah, sure.”

“These are the basics. Deep breaths. In through your nose for three counts, out through your mouth for three counts. Visualize a fire. I like the flame of a match. Focus on the spark you’re going to feel from me, and imagine it fueling that fire, taking away all the distractions with it.” Ambrose closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “If it doesn’t feel good, tell me and we’ll stop. But it should feel pretty good.”

 _Spark?_ That was a lot different than anything with Jess. Fox closed their eyes and focused on their breath, bringing to mind their grandmother’s hurricane lantern. It was fueled with lamp oil and had a cotton wick, and they could remember the exact day when they were deemed old enough to light it and take it out into the dusky summer night. The flame of that lamp burned bright and clear, and the glass enclosure kept it from being worried by drafts, but Fox couldn’t help swinging the lamp slightly while carrying it. The pendulum movement was reflected in the flame, sometimes so much that the glass was smudged dark with smoke. The repetitive waver of the lamp’s flame filled Fox’s mind as they began to feel something. At first it felt like a prickle where their skin met Ambrose’s, almost too subtle to be sure something was actually happening.

Ambrose made another satisfied noise, and Fox knew it wasn’t just their imagination.

The prickle grew into something bigger, something stronger, and something more intense. It felt like electricity dancing just under Fox’s skin, making the hair on the back of their neck stand on end and their heart beat faster. It fueled the flame of the hurricane lantern, washing away everything else in the wave of its sure purity, cleansing and bright. Ambrose sighed between breaths and his grip tightened. It sent a surge of focused power through Fox, who couldn’t help flinching a little at the sensation.

“Are you okay?” Ambrose whispered. “Should we stop?”

“No,” Fox breathed. “I mean don’t stop. I’m okay, just... yeah.” They remembered how Ambrose had described this process and whispered, “Power.”

“Yeah.” Ambrose’s answer was low and drunken and a little giddy. “We’ll give it a few more minutes. Focus on the purification. Give yourself a mantra to remember this moment, if it helps. Meditate on the things that bother you that you want to go away.” His hands tightened on Fox’s wrists. “I’m here if you need me. I’ll keep track of time.”

Fox frowned, not sure how to interpret Ambrose’s words. The things that bothered them were the thousand and one smells that harried them throughout the day, from coffee making, food prep, patrons, and the general environment. It took a lot of concentration to block out the extraneous ones and focus on the important smells — like the espresso as hot water flowed through it, because Fox needed to make sure it didn’t scorch. Or how far along in the cooking process the soup was in the crockpot in the kitchen, or the moment when Eliot got the coffee sweats because she’d had too much caffeine while studying—

But thinking about all of these things wasn’t helping. Fox shook the thoughts out of their head and refocused on the flame, letting everything else fall away. The lamp oil had a sharp, eager smell that Fox had always associated with adventure, and that made them smile. Ambrose had wanted them to come up with a mantra — something simple and repetitive to remember and recite later. Something about purification...

The smell of coffee was actually supposed to be purifying, sort of. It was an olfactory palate cleanser. Fox had assumed it would help with clearing out the plethora of smells in the coffee shop, but it only ended up sharpening their nose for more to come assail it. Only the scent of their own skin helped block everything else out and reset — that and all the scents of home on their skin and hair and clothes. Usually they could pick out Quinn’s boyish scent, and the smell of whatever breakfast had been, sometimes dinner the night before if it had been Fox who’d made it. Jess’ massage oil scent, Riley and Avery’s beauty products, though they had mercy on Fox most of the time and bought unscented or natural brands. Mel and Beats were even easier on Fox’s nose, the dirty hippies. Phee even left a scent of ozone in the air when they shifted gender, and that just as much as anything was the smell of home.

Instead of a verbal mantra, Fox cycled through the dominant note of each of their housemate’s personal scents, ending on their own. Phee-Jess-Avery-Mel-Beats-Riley-Quinn-Fox — the scents flowed one to the other, and, following the circle around again, Fox found it easy to make a little home inside there and nestle in safely, the lantern flame a steady warming, presence.

“That’s good.” Ambrose’s voice cut through the visualization, the words calm and low but enough to pull Fox up from the nest they’d created for themself. “Very good, Fox. It’s perfect. The energy is exactly right. Hold onto that thought and come up with me. Nice and slow, when you’re ready. Don’t let go of the flame, the mantra. Keep it in the back of your mind, but come back to me.” As consciousness came back to Fox, they could feel the way Ambrose’s thumb dragged back and forth inside their wrists, a steady, soothing counterpoint to their own breathing. “I’m right here. Come back.”

The nest was so warm and comforting, Fox almost whimpered when they felt Ambrose calling them back. But he’d said they could bring it all with them, and they sighed as the ambient smells and sounds and sensations started to make themselves known again. They effectively picked up their olfactory security blanket and walked it back into the coffee shop, into their senses and body and the present moment. They smiled softly and took a deep breath, much deeper than the rhythm they’d set at the start, and touched Ambrose’s hand with one finger. “I’m back, dear.”

“Did it work?” Ambrose’s voice cracked in an unfamiliar way — not the uncertainty he’d struggled with when they had dinner a few days ago, and not anything as straightforward as exertion. It was a deep and throaty and pleased sound, and it curled through their connection like smoke. Fox opened their eyes to watch the way Ambrose’s long eyelashes fluttered as he brought himself back to awareness. A smile quirked at the corner of his mouth, twitching in and out of existence involuntarily. Even his breathing was relaxed in a way Fox had never seen from him before; his chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm under the worn fabric of his blue sweater. He was beautiful. “Did I help? I mean, did this help?”

Fox took another deep breath and didn’t feel immediately overwhelmed by all the olfactory stimuli that they knew to be around the coffee shop. It was liberating. The scents were still there, they just weren’t banging on the front door of Fox’s consciousness, threatening to take over their attention. Fox rolled their shoulders back and cracked their neck, feeling so much more functional. “Goddess. You’re a dream, Ambrose. Thank you, yes. Absolutely.”

Ambrose didn’t immediately reply. He leaned forward to press his forehead against Fox’s for a mere moment before pulling away. He looked tired and drained, but pleased. Maybe even happy.

“Any time, Fox,” he sighed, smiling. He squeezed Fox’s wrists one last time before letting go. “It took almost five minutes instead of the promised two — sorry about that — but no one came to the counter so you should still be fine.” He shifted as if getting ready to stand, but he didn’t. Instead, he straightened his shoulders and looked at Fox with an uncertain smile. “Thanks for trusting me.”

Fox was dumbfounded. “But... _of course,_ Ambrose. How could I _not_ trust you? You just... you feel like, you _smell_ like—” They looked down at their wrist and then back up into Ambrose’s eyes. “—an anchor. You’re solid. Steady. Safe.” Impulsively, Fox leaned forward and kissed Ambrose’s cheek before getting to their feet. “Thank _you_ for such a wonderful gift.”

“I —” Ambrose started, his jaw dropped and his eyes widened in shock. The dopey grin spread even wider. Then it cleared, only to be replaced by bashfulness. “You’re welcome,” he murmured. “If, uh… if you need help with practice? Let me know.” He stood, unfolding himself carefully and steadily. “I’ll draw the symbol for you soon. Later. When I’ve regained my balance. But once you get it established, you shouldn’t need me anymore.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t _want_ you though,” Fox said with a grin, trailing a hand gently down his arm. “We should definitely do that again sometime soon.”

Feeling incredibly refreshed, they hopped over to the opening in the counter and slipped through, ready for anything. “Come on big guy, lemme make you a drink. Anything you want.”

“A drink,” Ambrose repeated. He looked confused, maybe even conflicted, for a moment as he stared at Fox. Then he shook his head. “No thanks.” He strode over to the counter with long, confident steps and grabbed a couple pieces of paper from ordering pad next to the cash register. “I’ll just, uh…” He gestured to the table he and Tia had sat at when they first came in. “I’ll just sketch that sigil for you.”

Fox reached out a hand, but was suddenly worried Ambrose didn’t want to be touched. Something seemed to have changed in his demeanor. “Don’t go. Sit here with me at the counter. I promise not to talk your ear off.” They smiled crookedly, hoping Ambrose wouldn’t be scared away.

“I’d like if it you did,” Ambrose said, fingertips brushing Fox’s hand before they could pull it away. He gave Fox a half-smile. “Though I have to admit, those bar stools are not amazing for really tall folk like me. I’m a little afraid they’re just going to fold under me like so much clay.”

“They’re sturdy. Cam stands on them sometimes to reach the light fixtures.” Fox said as they wiped down the counter, just for something to do with their hands. “But I’m sorry if they aren’t comfy. I could find a cushion, maybe...?” They cast their eyes around the coffee shop, looking for a free throw pillow.

“They’re not uncomfortable,” Ambrose said with a shrug and a frown down at his hands. “I just don’t want to break anything.”

“Honey, if you end up accidentally breaking something, it wasn’t worth having in the first place. And Cam will apologize to you and replace it instead of getting mad, I promise,” Fox said with their most winning smile, hoping to hide their concern. Ambrose looked troubled, which was the opposite of how Fox felt for the first time in a while, and when they felt good it was doubly hard to see others not good. “So chin up, okay?”

Ambrose looked up at Fox, his expression clearing when he saw Fox’s smile. “Wow,” he said, his answering grin almost matching. “You look… That really worked well, didn’t it?”

Fox took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Just the fact that they could do that and not choke on more scents than could be processed in a whole shift, let alone a moment, was kinda amazing. “Yeah, it did. I had no idea how much I needed that. Thanks.” They smiled gratefully at Ambrose and added, “And thanks for somehow just knowing I needed some help.”

“Well,” Ambrose chuckled, settling cautiously on a barstool. He looked down at the papers in his hand and smirked as he started to sketch out the design he’d drawn onto Fox’s wrist. “It’s the benefit of training, a keen eye, and a vested interest in your health.”

Cheeks warming at the casual way Ambrose expressed his care, Fox hummed delightedly and turned away to continue cleaning up the workspace. Their eyes kept straying to the little black mark on their wrist, though, just like what used to happen with the tattoo on their other arm when it was brand new. “Hey, ‘Brose, is it a bad idea to get that little anchor as a tattoo? I know _you_ have it, but I dunno...” They held up their arm, wrist out to draw Ambrose’s eyes to the mark. “Is placement important?”

“Oh, um…” Ambrose swallowed and looked up at Fox. His cheeks and the tips of his ears reddened just enough to make his skin seem richer, and he waved a hand. “That would be, I don’t know that —” he started, then swallowed again. He ducked his head to stare intently at the sketch he’d been working on. “I wouldn’t mind, but you should probably talk to a sigil maker to make sure it’s the best working for you.”

Seeing a six and a half foot tall black man get so adorably flustered was a marvel Fox had never expected to behold. They had to tear their eyes away from his face when the door jangled, but they managed to nod and say, “Yeah, of course. I’ll ask Ri,” before registering the wrongness of the scene at the door and jumping over the counter to go help.

“It’s not that bad,” Tia was loudly protesting, voice cracked and wobbly. She hung off Quinn’s arm, head tilted and resting against Quinn’s shoulder in a way completely unlike the casual, affectionate drape she’d used when they’d walked out earlier. Her eyes were closed, her knuckles white on Quinn’s arm, and her ratty khakis were now stained and torn and… was that blood?

 _Fuck._ “Ambrose, there’s a first aid kit in the kitchen, by the paper towel dispenser next to the sink.” Fox looked around and of course Ambrose was right behind, anxiously checking Tia for injury. Fox turned to Quinn and touched his chin. “You okay, baby?”

Quinn nodded, looking shaken, but whole. “I’ll get it. You...”

He didn’t have to finish, because both Fox and Ambrose were already supporting Tia, half-carrying her to the nearest chair, asking her where it hurt.

“It’s fine!” she protested loudly, swatting half-heartedly at both Fox and Ambrose. “It’s not my fault that Quinn is so amazing. His aura was _right there_ and, and, what the hell is wrong with bus drivers in this city, anyway? Don’t they have to pass, like, vision tests or something?” She flopped in the chair and stifled a whimper with her fist in her mouth, then glared at Fox as if daring them to call her on it.

When Fox looked around again, Quinn was already back with the kit. They sighed gratefully as they took it, saying, “You’re perfect. Sit down before you fall over.” Quinn immediately collapsed into the chair next to Tia.

“What the fuck _happened?_ And what hurts, Mouse?” Fox gave her a _‘don’t dismiss this, it’s serious’_ face before opening the first aid kit and snapping on nitrile gloves.

“She stepped into the street without looking, right at a bus stop, and...” Quinn looked stricken and just sort of waved vaguely at Tia’s pants.

“Jesus, Tia,” Ambrose hissed. His big hands fluttered over Tia’s right leg, the one that seemed the most badly damaged. “I knew we shouldn’t have —”

“It’s just a scrape,” Tia repeated. Her face softened at Ambrose’s stricken look, though, and she reached out to hold Ambrose’s head between her hands. Her thumbs brushed the neon colored hair at his temple. “I’m fine.”

Ambrose carefully tugged at the hole in Tia’s pants, ripping at it until it was big enough to reveal the shredded skin underneath.

Tia eyed the gloves on Fox’s hands. “Such a clever Fox,” she approved, slurring a little. “I’m clean, though. I get tested every few months at the free clinic.”

“Tia,” Ambrose hissed.

“What?” Tia said. She dropped her hands from his face and let her head loll back. “I didn’t do it on purpose. Quinn is just so, so...” She sighed and smiled dreamily. “Colorful and vibrant.”

Fox looked from Tia’s face to Ambrose’s, where fondness and exasperation were at war on his features, then to Quinn’s. The cub was worrying the skin around his fingernails with his teeth, a sure sign he was anxious. Fox wanted to touch his face, but the gloves would make the gesture awkward instead of soothing. Instead, Fox leaned close and said, “It’s not your fault, babe,” and kissed his forehead.

Quinn smiled faintly and nodded, though neither action was convincing.

Trying to conceal a stab of worry, Fox turned back to Tia, gloved hands up, saying, “It’s, like, a law that I have to, or something. Cam could probably lose his food license.” Then, crouching down to search out an antiseptic pad in the kit at their feet, they added, “And we need to get you cleaned up, even if it’s not that bad.”

“Oh, um,” Tia said, sitting up again to look at Fox with wide-eyed alarm. “Can I just wash up in the bathroom?”

“No,” Ambrose answered, definitive and inarguable. “Don’t be a baby. The alcohol pads don’t sting that much, Mouse.”

“I’m not a baby!” Tia huffed, pulling her injured knee in just a little closer and watching Fox warily. “But I’m not wrong. Those things hurt.”

Pausing in the act of ripping a packet open, Fox turned to Quinn and said, “Go run into the kitchen and grab a clean washcloth. Get it wet with warm water.” Quinn nodded and got up, less unsteady than Fox expected. _Good._ Having something to do almost always helped.

While Quinn hurried away, Fox looked critically at the wound. It wasn’t deep, but the scrape covered a good amount of surface area, and the number of exposed nerve endings was probably high. Tia was right to be cautious. “Okay, warm water first, then a quick swipe with the alcohol pad to get it nice and clean. Then some ointment and gauze to protect it.”

They looked over at Ambrose, wondering how well he and Tia would be able to keep the wound from getting infected while sleeping rough. “And maybe a sleepover at our house until it heals a bit.”

Tia brightened, opened her mouth — probably to agree happily, knowing her enthusiasm — but then shot a glance at Ambrose and closed her mouth again. She bit her lip and looked down at her pants. “I think we’re gonna have to go. We didn’t bring our stuff, and it’s a little too cold outside to just turn these into shorts.”

Ambrose frowned and tugged the rip open a little further. “I… You should stay here and I’ll go.” He looked at Fox, frowning. “If you don’t mind —”

“Of course not.” Fox glanced at the wall clock behind the counter, and there was Quinn trotting back with the washcloth. _Perfect._ As they took the cloth and started to very gently dab away the dirt and blood, Fox added, “But Cam should be back soon, and if I ask really nicely, we might be able to borrow his car to get your stuff. Can you drive, ‘Brose?”

Tia hissed at the contact of the washcloth to her knee and clutched Fox’s shoulder and Ambrose’s hand. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and leaned her head back.

“Yes,” Ambrose started, tilting his head as if he were trying to remember something. “But I don’t have any proof that I can. It’s only a few miles. I can walk.”

“But you’ll have to carry _two packs_ back with you, dear.” Fox glanced up for only a moment and went back to cleaning up Tia’s scraped skin as gently as possible.

“I can go with him,” Quinn said, and Fox had nearly forgotten he was _right there._ It didn’t matter that he’s spoken softly, Fox jumped. And Tia hissed.

 _And_ the door jangled. Customers. _Fucking perfect timing,_ Fox thought, rolling their eyes.

When they looked up, however, they smiled so brightly their vision blurred. “Cam! Hey. And Rian, awesome. So glad you guys are back.”

 

~~~

 

Ambrose heard the bell jingle over the door in a distant sort of way. Of course he was curious to meet Cam, who he’d heard a little bit about, but he was struggling here. Tia had walked into a bus — who does that?! — and was bleeding and their stuff was too far away to be useful and did he have a driver’s license? He knew how to drive because Charleston wasn’t exactly a bastion of good public transportation, but that didn’t mean he had proof. Hell, if the Caste did obtain an actual, legal license for him, he would have burned it long ago.

Then it occurred to him that ‘Cam’ wasn’t the only name Fox had shouted in relief.

His thought processes skidded to a halt.

 _Rian_.

Maybe it wasn’t him at all. Rian was an odd name, but not singularly unique. How could it be him? In Chicago, an age away from the sleepy southeast, a lifetime away from quiet smiles and laughter, of flickering candlelight…

Of boarded up shops revisited too late, of months of heartache and guilt...

Here. In the largest group of gifted folk Ambrose had ever seen outside the Caste.

Ambrose’s grip tightened on Tia’s hand, and she whimpered a little. He looked up at her, contrite and hesitant, not yet willing to turn around and look. He didn’t know which would be worse — if it was or wasn’t Rian.

An unfamiliar voice got closer as it asked, “What’s happened?” The question was laced with concern rather than annoyance or anger, which might have been considered fair game for someone finding people bleeding in the middle of their establishment.

Fox hopped to their feet and held up their hands as if in surrender. “Ah, yeah, sorry. A bit of a mishap. Not on the premises, so don’t worry. Our friend Tia here had a bit of an accident involving a bus, and Quinn brought her in, and Ambrose was here with me being delightful — have you met yet? And I was keeping an eye on the counter, but also, you know, first aid stuff, so...” Their hands were gesturing to each person and thing in turn and causing a bit of a whirlwind, even though the bloody washcloth was still gripped in one of them.

“Fox, breathe, it’s fine, you did good. Though maybe you don’t want to be waving that cloth around, yeah?” And then a Latino guy who Ambrose assumed must’ve been Cam dropped into a crouch in front of him and Tia wearing an easy smile. “Sorry not to meet you guys under better circumstances. I’m Cam.”

“Cam, I did _not_ run into a bus, whatever they say,” Tia said, struggling to sit up straight and giving Cam a serious look. Ambrose knew it wasn’t just for effect, because Tia looked closer to tears than she would ever admit to anyone, but her lip didn’t wobble. “I was distracted and Quinn was amazing and drivers in this city are insane.”

“Well you aren’t wrong about the drivers round these parts,” Cam replied, setting down the messenger bag he was carrying to shuffle a little closer and apparently try to get a better look at Tia’s leg. “And regardless of who hit who, you’re looking pretty well off for it all things considered. This the extent of the injuries or is there anything else going on I should know about?”

“Just that Fox is the best ever and didn’t make it sting even more,” Tia added with a genuine smile.

“Nice to meet you, Cam,” Ambrose said, giving him the best approximation of a smile he could manage. Then he held his breath and allowed himself to look past Cam at his companion.

His heart stuttered in his chest as his gaze settled on Rian. _His_ Rian.

Who was standing there holding a tray of soy milk cartons, eyes wide, and staring at him like he’d seen a ghost. “Ambrose?” he said, voice wavering, and suddenly it seemed liked everyone in the room was looking at the two of them.

Not that Ambrose noticed enough to actually care. The world had narrowed to Tia’s hand in his, holding tight enough to bruise, and Rian’s familiar brown eyes. He looked the same, and different. His face was a little less soft, his hair a little longer. He had a much fuller beard and mustache, both artfully trimmed. His eyes were lined in just enough eyeliner to be noticeable, and Ambrose felt his mouth dry up.

_I came back but you were gone, I thought they got you, I didn’t know what happened, I was so scared for you._

“Hi Rian.”

“Wait, you _know_ each other?” Fox sounded both shocked and delighted. “That’s...” They paused, as if unsure whether it was a good thing or a bad thing, given what they could glean from the reactions on display. “That’s awesome. I’m — Tia, I gotta clean this up. Then you should check for bruising.”

“Okay,” Tia said, voice uncertain and quiet. She shifted to give Fox easier access, but her grip on Ambrose’s hand didn’t lighten.

“I, uh…” Ambrose swallowed. “I came back to Charlotte, but the shop was… and you were...” His free hand shook a little at his side as he tried to find words. He’s spent so long cutting off the end of that sentence to avoid thinking the worst that, even now, with Rian in front of him, he couldn’t finish.

Rian looked as overwhelmed as Ambrose felt and, even as far apart as they were, he could see Rian’s chin starting to wobble, grip on the tray of milk tightening so much that it had to hurt.  
  
“You went back? But it wasn't safe there, you shouldn’t have...” he said, taking a half step forward before stopping himself, looking from Ambrose to Tia where Cam and Fox were still beside her, and pulling the tray up in front of him like a shield. “I…I…it’s fine, umm. Your friend is hurt, I should…” He was clearly panicking and Ambrose wanted to go over and wrap him up in a hug, or leave. Whatever would get that look off Rian’s face.  
  
Before anyone had a chance to say anything, however, Rian took off towards the counter. Going through the little swinging door, he darted towards the storeroom, yanking the door open then shutting it behind him with a slam.

Ambrose sat down next to Tia, for once not bothering with grace or deliberate control of his body. “What the _hell_ is going on with this town?”

“Friend of yours?” Tia asked, running her fingertips over his head. Fox and Cam exchanged a look but held their tongues and focused on Tia’s injury, possibly a little too intently.

Ambrose almost couldn’t breath. Friend didn’t even come close.

“Rian’s a great guy, Ambrose. Though I’m sure you already knew that. He’s just... He’ll be out in a minute, or something,” Fox said, waving their hand vaguely. They frowned at Tia’s leg as they finished cleaning up the scraped area, gentle as ever.

Quinn quietly pulled a chair right up next to Ambrose’s, sat down, and leaned against him — a sweet, silent support.

Ambrose appreciated the contact, and Tia’s hand firm in his own, but suddenly he wanted to do nothing more than get up and walk. He was feeling stifled and uncomfortable and trapped. He’d had a lifetime of evidence that he was destructive to the people he got too close to. Yes, Rian was here, but what the hell had he suffered thanks to Ambrose’s short presence in his life? If anything happened to Tia, or Quinn, or Fox...

“So,” Tia said, breaking the silence with cheer that was unforced and all the more painful for it. “Cam! Tell me about yourself!”

At the sound of his name, Cam looked up from his phone. He shot a concerned look at the shut door behind the counter before facing them with an easy smile. There was a considering slant to his eyes, though, as he glanced at Ambrose and slid his cellphone into his pocket.  
  
Reaching down into the first aid box he pulled out a small brown jar and handed it to Fox. “Use this and a cloth bandage on the wound once it’s all clean, yeah?” he said, his tone brooking no argument even with how softly he spoke. “Old family recipe, my mama swears by it,” he explained, standing back up and heading over to the counter. Tugging down a couple of mugs, he set about fixing some drinks with an ease that could only come through years of practice.  
  
“What would you like to know Tia? Consider me an open book for your perusal, though apologies; I am not a particularly exciting one.”

“We’ve been here before but we haven’t met you. You’re the owner, right?” Tia’s eyes lit up and she leaned forward to watch Cam as he worked. Ambrose recognized the purposeful curiosity in her eyes and was grateful for the distraction. “What made you decide to have a coffee shop? Is it hard, running your own business? Have you always been in Chicago? How did you get started?”

“That's right yeah, Rosetta’s mine. I have the apartment upstairs too,” he replied, looking utterly unfazed by the barrage of questions as he flipped open a jar and released a wave of something sweet smelling into the air. “And really the coffee business chose me, I've got something of a knack where beverages are concerned. The business side of things I picked up mostly from my dad, did a couple of night courses to fill in the gaps. It's one of those things that's gotten easier with practice.”

He paused in what he was doing for a moment to look over at where their little group was practically sitting on top of each other. Eyebrows furrowing for a split second, he then nodded decisively before going into motion again, a little hurricane of activity behind the counter.

“And yeah, Chicago’s always been home, though not always this neighborhood. My sister and I were born over in Hermosa, our folks are still there now. As for the how, I applied for a mortgage for the building and Ri put in the startup costs to get Rosetta and his shop next door all kitted out. Then it just went from there.”

“That’s amazing,” Tia grinned. “I wonder if my talent would have any, entra… uh… entrap… uh…” She rolled her eyes at herself and Ambrose felt his heart lightening a little. “Business use.”

“Entrepreneurial?” Fox was sniffing the little glob of ointment on their finger that came from Cam’s brown jar. After a moment, they started applying it to Tia’s scrape.

“Yeah, that,” Tia agreed. At the first touch of ointment to her leg, she froze, watching Fox carefully. Ambrose knew the stuff didn’t hurt — it didn’t smell alcohol-based — so he ignored them for a minute while Tia tried to hold still for Fox.

“Rian has a shop next door?” he asked. How had he missed that? His stomach lurched at the thought that he been mere feet away from Rian the first time he came here, and didn’t even know.

“Yeah, Chevalier Ink,” Cam replied, pride flooding into his voice as he set a jug of milk under the steamer and switched it on. “He’d turn a decent profit too if he would actually charge his friends full price like he should do. I mean, I know I give my fair share of drinks away but that doesn’t really compare to what he can do.” He looked at Ambrose then and flashed him a small smile, the unspoken ‘as I’m sure you know’ filling the air between them.

Ambrose felt a flare of irritation at the suggestion that he might have taken advantage of Rian’s generosity, but he didn’t say anything. The name of the shop triggered his memory, though.

“Chevalier,” he repeated with a smile. “That’s perfect.”

Cam’s smile grew a little wider and he nodded in agreement, bustling about as he finished up the drinks he was making. Ambrose wasn’t sure exactly how he’d managed it given how little time he’d spent behind the counter but there were five drinks, all lightly steaming, balanced on a tray alongside a plate of cookies when he emerged. 

“How’s that feel, Mouse?” Fox finished bandaging Tia’s leg, and sat back on their heels to look up at her face. “Can you bend your knee okay?”

With a careful movement first, and then a lot more enthusiasm, Tia tested out her leg with a little swing and a kick. “Whoa!” she bellowed with obvious approval. She jumped up and did a little hop before throwing her arms around Fox. “You did an incredible job!”

“Thanks, baby,” Fox said with a chuckle, their words muffled in Tia’s shoulder. “I hope it doesn’t hurt much and heals quickly.” They hugged her back but kept their hands clear, and the moment she let them go, the gloves came off. Then they stood and sniffed the drinks Cam brought over. “This one mine?”

Cam nodded, readjusting his grip on the tray so it didn’t overbalance when Fox picked up the mug they had gestured to. “Breakfast tea, nothing fancy but it’s a new blend. You’ll have to let me know how you like it,” Cam said with a smile. “And chamomile for Quinn.”

Quinn raised his head off of Ambrose’s shoulder and blinked. “Oh. Thanks, Cam. With honey?” Cam nodded and Quinn gave him the softest smile as he took the mug.

Tia peeked appreciatively at the array of mugs and blinked. “You sure do know how to spoil a girl,” she said as she reached for what Ambrose was sure was hot chocolate, if the brown-edged whip cream was anything to go by. “Does it have anything weird in it?” she asked Cam before she took the cup. “It looks a little bit different colored than usual.”

Ambrose wondered if he should explain, on Tia’s behalf, that she meant energy color, not drink color.

“Weird? No, it doesn’t,” Cam replied, setting the tray down on the nearest table and taking a mug for himself. “Well, nothing _I’d_ consider weird and wouldn’t drink myself. It’s got a few different things in there that should help you feel more right in yourself though.”

“Oh!” Tia said, nodding agreeably. “That explains it.” Then she took a drink without a second thought, slurping happily at the whip cream. Sometimes — okay, a lot of times — Ambrose envied her faith in people. Even if he also occasionally wondered if that carelessness wasn’t the symptom of a deeper, less pleasant thing.

He blinked to clear away the thought and picked up the remaining drink. It smelled like chai tea, a little sweeter than he’d normally take it, but irresistible in his present state of mind. He inhaled the spicy aroma and gave Cam a grateful look.

Then he stopped and looked down at the mug. He and Tia were, for all the quick intimacy they’d established with the pack, interlopers on Rian’s friends. His presence upset Rian enough that he’d retreated to the back without so much as an explanation or farewell, and was, at present, still hiding. It was cruel to stay and sip sweet drinks when he was causing Rian — _his_ Rian — distress.

“We should go,” he said, casting Tia a firm look. He signed their gesture for _please no argument_ — a simple shake of the wrist with his fingers in the ASL sign for P — and set the drink on the table.

“Absolutely not,” Fox said more sternly than Ambrose had ever heard them be. “You’re... Tia’s still in shock, you expended all your energy on me, _and then_ all of this happened.” Fox waved their arms in a vague way, but the gesture definitely included the back room. “Please, Ambrose. I know it’s your default, but _please_ don’t leave. It’ll be okay.”

Having pulled out his cell again and giving it an appraising look, Cam hummed in what Ambrose could only assume was agreement with, or approval of, what Fox had said. Dropping the phone into his lap and turning his mug in his hands, he added, “If I thought you needed to leave Ambrose, I wouldn’t have made you a drink.”

Ambrose had no idea what to say to that. He was uncomfortable beyond belief, but Fox had a point. Tia was probably ready to down her hot cocoa and sleep for twelve hours, at the very least.

 _Shit._ In all the excitement he hadn’t even asked her how her headache was.

Feeling like a pretty terrible being overall, he lifted the tea and took a deep drink. The unusual sweetness didn’t bother him, though — in fact, the sugar hit his system and Ambrose felt some of his unsettledness subside. He leaned a little closer to Quinn and relaxed. It was nice, being surrounded by people who seemed to actually care about his comfort. And Tia’s. Especially Tia’s.

“It’s good,” he said. “Thank you.”

Fox interrupted Cam mid-nod by tugging at his shirt gently and murmuring, “Should I make something for Rian and bring it to him?”

“He doesn’t want anything right now except Eliot, I imagine,” Cam replied, mouth twisting slightly in frustration. “But you’re a sweetheart for offering, Fox. Thank you.”

“I still need my clothes, though,” Tia interrupted, darting only the briefest glance at Ambrose before focusing on Cam. “I mean, I appreciate you guys taking great care of me, but I look like…” She gave them all a whip-cream smudged smile. “I look like someone who got run over by a bus. That can’t be good for business! What if the health inspector comes in?”

“Then I will make them an incredibly tasty drink and explain the situation,” Cam said with a smile. “Given that you aren’t in a food preparation area, though, I think we’ll be okay on the health inspector front. Besides, if people are put off by me and my staff helping someone who needs patching up then they aren’t the kind of customers I want in my coffee shop.”

Tia shot Ambrose a look — one he could easily interpret as _sorry, I tried_ — and continued sipping on her cocoa. She gave a pointed glance at his tea and he brought it back up to his lips with an internal sigh, feeling thwarted.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eliot abuses the Spanish language, Tia once again takes advantage of Quinn's bathtub, and Fox gets closer to _everyone_. Also, tattoo feels.

The back room at Rosetta — part break room, part store cupboard, with another door that lead to the back stairs up to the twins’ apartment – wouldn’t have been Rian’s first choice of places to have a meltdown. Given the utter lack of other immediate options available, however, aside from in the coffee shop proper in front of everyone, including the cause of said meltdown, he wasn’t going to begrudge it. Besides which, what it lacked in space and natural light, it made up for in familiarity. Filled with sights and scents Rian knew, it was as comforting a space he could expect to find while his heart was pounding in his chest, thoughts racing.

Ambrose was here, in Chicago. Not just Chicago but in Cafe Rosetta, Rian’s second home, only feet away from his shop. Just sitting there. Like it hadn’t been seven years since they’d last seen each other, like he hadn’t walked into his life back then and turned everything on its head before leaving again just as quickly.

And the life he’d made for himself since then was  _ good _ — he had a home, his own business, gotten further in his transition. He had people whom he loved and who loved him in Eliot and Cam, friends, his growing relationship with Riley — he was happier than he thought he could ever be. Ambrose though, he was good too, better than, and Rian had carried a torch for him for so long. To have him reappear out of nowhere… It was a Pandora’s box of old hurt and new guilt and lost possibilities and  _ fear _ . It was too much and his chest ached with it all and it felt like drowning…

Rian’s knees hit the floor with a crack and he desperately tried to suck in a breath, the room going blurry around him as he fought to get oxygen into his lungs. Scrambling out of his coat, he slammed his hand over the sigil in the crook of his left arm, mouthing an incantation he hadn’t used in months but, for better or worse, was too familiar with to have ever forgotten. The effect was instant and Rian would have cried out in relief if he could as air rushed back into his body leaving him light headed, the room spinning slightly around him. Letting himself fall sideways onto his hip, then rolling so he was sitting with his back to one of the room’s cupboards, Rian blinked back tears as he waited for his heart to stop pounding so hard that it physically hurt.

He’d just about got his breathing under control when he felt his cell go off in his pocket. Knowing it was probably Cam checking on him, he let go of the iron grip he still had on his arm to pull it from his pocket, only to stop when he actually looked at the sigil he’d used unconsciously. Ambrose’s sigil. It was so horrifically poetic, or possibly ironic — he wasn’t sure which — that he couldn’t help but laugh. Of course, it wasn’t technically accurate to call it Ambrose’s sigil; rather it was the one Rian had used in the center of the tattoo he’d given him because it had been such a perfect fit. The steadfast anchor. When Rian had started having panic attacks, he’d been looking for something to help and he’d remembered how calm Ambrose had been. How much just being around him had helped Rian himself feel calmer and more at ease. So it had seemed logical to utilize the same sigil he’d given him, tattooing it on himself because there had been no-one else to do it. Then he had a means to combat the panic attacks and a physical reminder of the impact Ambrose had had on his life — a tribute. Rian kind of hated his past self in that moment.

Of course past him had no idea that one day Ambrose was going to turn up out of nowhere like a freaking ghost and send the world crashing down around his ears, so maybe Rian could afford to cut him some slack. Pulling out his cell, his assumption was proved right as he saw the message —  _ chulo you got me worried. need me to come back there? —  _ and despite everything, he smiled a little. Typical Cam. 

Shooting back a quick reply —  _ it’s fine cam you stay put —  _ he debated with himself for a moment, acutely aware of his still ragged breathing and the fact that he was hiding in his best friends’ back room, before hitting speed dial. Turning his arm over so he couldn’t see the sigil anymore, Rian tapped out a rhythm on the floor as the phone rang and he chewed on his lip until the call connected.

“Hey  _ bebe _ , what’s happening?” came Eliot’s chirpy reply, the roar of traffic behind her. Rian was all set to say something when, to his horror, he burst into tears instead. A sharp inhale rang through the tiny speaker and Eliot’s voice got louder, flooding with concern.

“Shit Ri, are you okay? What’s going on?”

Struggling to get ahold of himself enough to speak so he didn’t worry Eliot anymore than he already had, Rian took a breath and managed to choke out, “No I’m not, it’s all gone sideways and I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m on my way, where are you?”

“The back room at Rosetta.”

“Okay, I’m only like ten minutes away from there, be there sooner if I can. You just, try and stay calm if you can, all right? Because I love you but I will be seriously pissed if you pass out or something before I get there, ‘kay?” 

A little of the pressure eased in his chest and Rian let his head fall back against the cupboard, wiping at his face with his free hand. “Love you too El.” Just before the call disconnected, he heard Eliot yell ‘get the hell out my way asshole’ and he let out a wet snuffle of a laugh. He knew her presence wasn’t going to magically fix anything but just the fact that she would be there soon, in all her abrasive but utterly devoted glory, made it easier to breathe.

 

~~~

 

With Cam back behind the counter and Tia’s leg bandaged, Fox didn’t have much to do. Which was a problem, because everyone was off their game, and it was like pulling teeth to get the assembled group comfortable enough to share space. Cam was, as usual, an ocean of calm — the eye of the emotional hurricane that was currently pounding the coffee shop. 

Quinn’s coping mechanism when stressed was to fall asleep, or at least get drowsy and tune everything out, which was probably best at this point. He was curled up with his tea and his shoulder pressed to Ambrose’s, spacing out on the low-volume background music Fox had put on earlier in the day. 

Ambrose looked a complete wreck, however. He smelled like fear-sweat — as if the fight-or-flight response had hit his system so hard it’d made him flinch. And it was hard to watch him drink his chai and listen to people attempt normal conversation. He was clearly trying to act like everything was okay, even though his eyes betrayed the fact that his world had somehow come crashing down around his ears when Rian walked in. 

Fox loved Rian; he was a really good friend, and having another person on the trans spectrum for Fox and Quinn to relate to was something they were always truly grateful for. But if he’d done something to hurt Ambrose — someone who had clearly been hurt badly in his past already — well, Fox didn’t know what. Because what if Ambrose had hurt Rian? That was too difficult to process after what they’d just gone through with him this afternoon. 

_ Either way, there’s nothing I can do about it, is there? _ Fox sighed and spent a few minutes talking shop with Cam — how the supplies run went, what the day’s totals looked like so far — before remembering that Tia and Quinn had actually managed to get something at the dollar store. Everyone had forgotten about the bag they brought in with them, but the smell of it had finally niggled in the back of Fox’s brain long enough to merit attention when things had quieted down. 

“By the way, what game did you get, Mouse?” Fox said as they sat down at the frankly glum table where their friends were seated. 

“Game?” Tia asked, straightening a little. Her brows pinched in thoughtfulness for a moment before her face lit up with realization. “Oh! It’s amazing! We get to wear headbands! Quinn, tell me the game didn’t get run over, too? I mean, I heal, but…” She shook her head sadly.

Quinn brightened up and smiled at Tia. “Oh! Yeah, it survived. I...” His brow furrowed in thought for a moment. Fox knew exactly where the game was, but let Quinn answer, “It’s under your chair, love.”

“That’s handy,” Tia laughed. She let herself list to the side a bit in a bid to grab the game, waving her hand wildly to ascertain its position. She looked alarmingly close to falling over, but managed to snag one of the cheap plastic bag’s handles before she was thwarted by gravity. She hollered in triumph and slammed the bag on the table. “The battle for this particular trophy was hard-won. It was close, not going to sugarcoat it, and our opponent was fierce. Quinn and I triumphed by sheer force of will, with only a little blood lost. Right, Quinn?”

“Absolutely right, Mouse.” Quinn was grinning for the first time in what felt like hours. It was a good moment. He leaned over the table and looked at Fox and Ambrose in turn. “Come on, folks. We gotta play, since Tia went to great lengths — and great personal peril — to bring this game to you.”

“I saw something like this in a TV show once,” Tia said as the she gently pulled the plastic bag away from the game. She lifted it up and peered at the bottom before giving a satisfied nod. She folded up the bag, tucked it into one of her generously large cargo pockets — the one that hadn't been torn to shreds — and started opening the box. “We each get a card. It gets put into our headbands, facing out so we can’t see it, and we have to guess what it is.” She gave Ambrose a significant look. “Using questions. No charades.”

Ambrose reached out and rubbed a hand on her upper arm, a quick and thankful gesture that had Tia grinning again. She opened the box and dumped the contents on the table. “Oh man. This is gonna be  _ great _ .”

Fox and Quinn grabbed two ends of the same headband thingy and giggled. Fox let him have it and reached for another. They’d just fastened the two ends of the plastic band together and were about to place it on their head when the door jangled violently and everyone in the coffee shop startled and turned to look. 

Wearing a beaten up military style jacket over pink nurse scrubs, hair escaping the bun it had been pulled into and her entire face aflush, was Eliot, letting loose with a veritable  _ torrent  _ of Spanish. Given the sheer amount of swearing she was packing into it, Fox was supremely grateful they didn’t have any customers in the shop at that moment. Eliot might not have been speaking English at that point but it really didn’t take being fluent in Spanish to understand that she was pissed off.

“ _ Nita _ ,” Cam started, dashing out from behind the counter and catching hold of her as she shrugged off her backpack, narrowly stopping her from sending one of the smaller tables toppling over with it in her agitation. “ _ You need to calm down; you aren’t going to help anyone like this.” _

_ “Don’t tell me to calm down, Cam! He was  _ **_crying_ ** _!”  _ she shot back, practically snarling. Apparently though, Cam’s words got through to her as, even from where they were sitting, Fox could see Eliot’s whole posture starting to relax as Cam rubbed his hands up and down her arms.

Their Spanish was accented differently than what Fox grew up with, but it was nice hearing it nonetheless. And at least this way Ambrose’s feelings might be spared somewhat. They glanced over at him, whose shoulders were tight and expression shuttered, and tossed him an apologetic smile. “That’s Eliot, Cam’s twin sister, and Rian’s best friend. I promise she’s here to help, no matter what it sounds like.” They handed the stack of cards for the game to Quinn, who nodded and started shuffling them in preparation to deal. 

Ambrose nodded, his jaw clenched and eyes downcast as he watched Quinn’s hands work with the cards. “I’m glad he’s found a new family,” he said. “That’s good.”

“Yeah, baby. And I’m glad you have, too.” Fox got up from the table, and before heading towards the twins, they reached out and touched Ambrose’s shoulder. Then, impulsively, they leaned in and kissed his hair.

Surprise replaced his stoicism, and Ambrose made a tiny noise in the back of his throat that Fox probably would have missed if he weren’t so close. The tension in his shoulders relaxed, even if just marginally, and he searched Fox’s face with a hint of confusion in his eyes. “Thanks.”

“Any time, big guy.” Fox smiled softly, then headed over to El and Cam, where they were talking a bit more quietly but still forcefully, in Spanish. 

They cleared their throat, then said, “ _ El, chula, perdón. _ ” 

Judging by the way Eliot started, her head snapping to look at them with faintly furrowed brows, she clearly hadn't expected anyone other than Cam to speak to her in Spanish. 

“ _ Sí, Fox ¿Qué es? _ ” she asked, still sounding snappish. But she wasn't yelling, either, which could only be a good thing.

Fox continued in Spanish.  _ “Okay, so I know this is hard for Ri and you’re here for him, and that’s great. You know I love him. But Ambrose is my friend, and he needs support right now too, so I’m doing that. But, please, let’s all be good to each other about this, all right?” _

Eliot’s eyes went wide and she swiveled on the spot to look at Ambrose, who appeared to be doing his very best not to notice. He was frowning down at the headband in his hands with unnecessary concentration. 

“ _ Elll piiiipo _ , Ambrose?  _ The  _ Ambrose?!” She turned to Cam and smacked his arm, switching back to Spanish as her voice got louder.  _ “You maybe wanna start with that part next time?! For fuck’s sake Cam! _ ”

_ Shit.  _ Clearly, not only did Eliot not have all the information until now, but Ambrose was famous for some reason. Hopefully not infamous. 

Fox was about to preach caution — and calming down — but she grabbed her backpack before they had the chance and ran to the still closed back door, the swinging door in the counter crashing against the wall in the process. “ _ Cariño,  _ it's me, can I come in?”

Looking over at Cam, who was rubbing his arm and looking apologetically in Ambrose’s direction, Fox held their breath to hear Rian’s response, hoping for some hint as to how he was doing. All that they got, though, was the door being opened in silence to let Eliot in and the scent of salt and panic-sweat painting the air around it before it was closed again behind her. Cam, for his part, just looked tired all of a sudden and, giving Fox’s arm a gentle squeeze, headed back to the counter to check if Eliot’s little rampage through had done any damage.

Fox left him to it, and when they turned back towards the table, they saw Tia chattering with excessively cheerful animation. She was talking fast enough that even Fox had a hard time keeping up, and they winced in sympathy as she snapped one of the headbands on Ambrose’s head. The cheap little thing clearly wasn’t designed for someone as large as Ambrose, but he bore it with only a faint grimace. The neon green plastic complimented his bright pink hair in a weird clash.

A closer look revealed that his own hands were moving quickly and in small shapes just below table height. Fox had noticed the tiny signs Ambrose and Tia had occasionally exchanged, but this was the first time he’d seen more than one in a row. Tia was still chattering at Quinn, easy and bright, but she kept Ambrose’s hands in her field of vision. 

Huh. Sign language, obviously.

It was only fair, Fox supposed, since they’d been using Spanish to obscure meaning, but Fox was a curious one, and it took some doing to tamp down the desire to know what Ambrose was communicating to Tia. “We doing all right over here?” Fox asked blithely, even if the question went deeper than how the game setup was progressing. 

“I dunno, Fox,” Tia said with an arched brow. She gave Quinn a playful stern look. “We have a bit of a debate going on. Maybe you can throw in your considerable influence? If one of us has a flower, do we have to guess the specific flower, or is the generic noun enough? ‘Cause I think it’s easy-peasy to describe the difference between…” She reached over and pulled the child-like illustration of a rose from Quinn’s hands “this and…” — next was a sunflower — “this.”

“Well,” Fox said, coming up behind Ambrose and resting their hands on his shoulders, “I would think those are distinctive enough you’d have to specify. I mean, you wouldn’t say, ‘it smells nice’ about a sunflower.” Touching Ambrose felt good enough that they didn’t want to stop, and the idea that they could help ground him in any way caused them to try something odd. Or at least, odd for them. 

While Tia looked smugly at Quinn, they moved their hand to press the little drawn-on sigil to the side of Ambrose’s neck, right above his shirt collar. After a steadying breath, they imagined their little lamp flame and nest of lovely, homey smells, trying to find that calmness from before and hoping Ambrose could feel it. 

The effect on Ambrose was instantaneous. His muscles, which all had been locked in a what Fox recognized as a fight-or-flight readiness, softened. His jaw unclenched and even his eyelids seemed to droop a little bit. His head tilted towards Fox, though not quite far enough back to rest on Fox’s chest. 

“You are a genius,” Tia said, voice and face fierce with approval. Though she was waving the flower cards around with an air of pleased triumph, it was clear by her darted glances between Ambrose and Fox she didn’t just mean their input on the game.

Ambrose rumbled a noise of agreement. Fox grinned sharply at the success. 

“Okay. We’ll be specific. Can we play now, please?” Quinn motioned for Fox to come sit next to him and put on their own funny little headband. He looked a bit lost, or maybe just tired, and Fox wished they could take him home so the two of them could curl up in bed together. Not for another few hours, at least. 

They wouldn’t even move away from Ambrose yet. “One minute. Go ahead and deal out the cards.” 

 

~~~

 

Resenting how much smaller she was than Rian wasn’t exactly a new feeling for Eliot, but it was at its worst when all she wanted to do was wrap him up in her arms and protect him from the rest of the world. Instead, she’d had to settle for sitting on the floor with his head in her lap, face buried against her stomach and arms wrapped around her middle as she smoothed her hands over his hair, occasionally rolling an errant curl between her fingers. Ideally they would have been doing this up in the apartment but Rian had looked so unsteady on his feet, so relieved to see her, flinging his arms around her the moment she was through the door, that she couldn’t bring herself to suggest it.

So they sat and she let him cry, tears soaking into the front of her scrubs, as she sang quietly to him. The music soothed her own agitation at his distress and, as she sang, that calmness began to wash over Rian as well. The tension gradually bled out of his body with each passing song and eventually the tears stopped, Rian’s fierce grip on her waist loosening before he twisted enough that he could look up at her. Eliot didn’t stop singing right away, though, and she had zero intention of stopping touching his hair unless he asked her to, but she did offer him a smile, one of her hands leaving his curls to wipe his face dry.

“That was real pretty El,” he croaked when she finished the song, coughing a little to try and clear his throat with minimal success. “Where’s it from?”   
  
“That musical I’m obsessed with,” she said, smile turning a little crooked. “The one I’ve been trying to convince you to sit and listen to since September.”

“Explains why it sounded familiar then,” he said, catching hold of her hand and lacing their fingers together. “You sang it really well.”

Eliot laughed and squeezed his hand. “You’re a sweetheart for saying so,  _ bebe _ . Don’t think I’m gonna be dropping nursing for the lure of the stage just yet though.”

Rian let out a little huff of amusement and kissed her knuckles. “Their loss. You’d be great, I know it.”

She couldn’t help laughing again, a deprecating little sound, and leant forward so she could kiss Rian’s forehead. He was deflecting, and she knew it, but the fact that it was making him smile made her reluctant to call him on it right away. Sweet as it was, however, it was only going to delay the inevitable, and Eliot was all too aware of the damp patch on her top and the elephant in the next room that was the root of it.

“As much as I would love to discuss my entirely theoretical debut into the world of musical theater with you, hun, kinda think there’s more pressing stuff to talk about, don’t you?”

Face falling, Rian looked away from her to their still linked hands, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “I don’t...” he began, trailing off only for his thoughts to hit Eliot in a rush.  _ Don’t know what to think, how to feel, what to do. He’s here, he’s safe, he went back and I wasn’t there, wasn’t safe there, what if he hates me, what if... _

“Rian,  _ bebe _ , it’s okay,” Eliot said, cutting off the barrage before it started to give her a migraine and slipping her hand from his hair so she could tilt his chin up to look at her. “Just...breathe.” She squeezed his hand and couldn’t help breathing a little easier herself when he squeezed back. For a little while, they just sat in comfortable silence, the only noises in the room coming from the water heater in the corner and the sound of their breaths gradually falling in sync.

“So, for the record,” she began, deciding a slight change of tack was in order as she went back to stroking his hair, humming a little in approval as he smiled at the touch. “I think you drastically undersold just how good looking that guy is. I mean, all the times you’ve talked about him and you somehow failed to mention the sheer smoking hotness. I’m disappointed.”

“Umm, I’m fairly fucking certain I did,” Rian shot back, looking more than a little affronted, and Eliot had to resist the urge to laugh.

“Nuh uh,” she said with a smile. “I would have definitely remembered that.”

Rian let out a noise of dismissal, looking back at their hands and tracing the fingers of his free hand across where his and Eliot’s were intertwined. “You’re always more interested in hearing about what girls look like than guys anyway,” he pointed out with a smirk, to which Eliot maturely responded by poking the top of his head.

“Yes, yes, I’m a terrible bisexual because I prefer the ladies,” she replied with a laugh, leaning down to give him a soft kiss. “Barring, of course, one or two notable exceptions.”

Rian’s cheeks flushed in that way they always did when she paid him compliments, regardless of how indirect they were, and Eliot smiled.

“There’s no such thing as levels of bisexual, El. Though as far as I'm concerned, it’s all a crock of shit, to be honest.”

“Why exactly?”

“Because it’s based around the dichotomy of ‘bi’ and that’s all people talk about. The whole either-or option is bullshit when you don’t actually fit the binary model. I hate it.”

“Hate is such a strong word…”

“That doesn't make it the wrong one.”

Eliot almost didn’t hear the words he  _ said _ because the words he  _ thought _ almost drowned them out.

“Rian, he does not hate you. Stop that.”

Rian’s expression twisted in disbelief, a pout creeping across his mouth, and his retort was almost petulant. Or, it would have been if it weren’t for the desperation that lurked just beneath it.  “How do you know that?”

Eliot gave him a look. “Aside from the part where I’m basically psychic?” she countered, tapping her forehead for emphasis.

“El, I’m serious, you can’t know that.”   


“Yeah, Rian, I can. You know why? Because only a total asshole would hate you for getting out of that town after what happened to you, and the Ambrose you’ve told me about? Definitely not an asshole.”

He didn’t look convinced, but there was something like hope in his eyes even as he countered with, “Yeah but people change. I mean,  _ I’ve _ changed.”

“Not in the ways that matter. Are you more confident in yourself now? Yeah, sure. But deep down you’re the same sweet, kind-hearted guy you were when we met, and I’m sure the same is true for Ambrose. Maybe more so even, like,” She let go of his hand and turned his arm over so she could trace over the sigil, Rian having explained its significance to her a long time ago. “Steady, strong, dependable — right? Whatever stuff he might have been through in the past seven years, he’s still going to be that guy.”

“I…” Rian started, before having to stop and swallow down another spike of panic. “I believe you. I mean, I want to believe you. But I don’t think I’m ready to find out if you’re right.”

“You don’t owe anyone anything,” Eliot said fiercely. “Not me, not anyone. Let’s go upstairs. Take a nap. Have the stiffest fucking drink Cam will make us. Get some sleep. Figure it out tomorrow.”

 

~~~~

 

Cam put away the supplies he and Rian had picked up earlier, except for a small pile that now sat outside the back room door. He didn't hover beside it to try and listen in, as much as he was tempted to, his attention drawn instead to the game being played by Fox and the others. It had seemed a simple premise to him, and enjoyable enough as he heard it being explained, but in the hands of the people playing it, it had turned into something riotously funny. For all that he was still worried about Rian, and Ambrose too for that matter, Cam found himself grinning and laughing along with their antics.

He hadn’t even had the heart to tell them to quiet down as the volume climbed. To their credit. Fox was doing a superb job of crowd control, having saved more than one cup from going flying and keeping the noise level manageable, if not quiet. 

After a particularly animated outburst of giggles, Fox’s voice could be heard saying, “All right, fine. A flamingo is nothing like a stork, but okay. You three go on without me, and I’ll—” there was a chorus of complaints, but they continued through them, “— I’ll be right back. I’m still on the clock, after all.”

A moment later, Fox sidled up to Cam with a sheepish grin, and started putting away printed cup sleeves and straws. “Sorry I bailed on my duties right when you arrived. You think everything’s okay in there?” they asked with a head tilt toward the back room. 

“You’re all right  _ llave _ , don’t sweat it,” Cam said, offering them an easy smile as he started pulling apart a box of flavored syrups to sort into two groups. The question had him pausing in his efforts to look round at the closed door, eyebrows furrowed a touch before he nodded. “I think so. I mean, El was singing earlier; got a touch of the vibe and it felt good. If she’s got herself calm enough to do that, then Rian’ll be feeling it too.”

“I’m guessing they won’t come out again any time soon, and Ambrose is ready to jump out of his seat, it feels like.” Fox paused before putting a tray of soy milk cartons into the fridge. “I dunno what went on between them but it must have been intense if they’re both so thrown to see each other again.”

Cam hummed in assent. “That’s my understanding of things, at least from Rian’s perspective. Obviously I can’t speak for Ambrose but, like you say, the reaction was very telling.” He let out a small sigh and rubbed the back of his neck. Sometimes he wished he had Eliot’s gift, if only so he could know better what was going on with people to try and help them. She liked to tease him about his need to mother everyone, to tell him that it wasn’t his job to look after every person who came through their door and fix their problems, but that didn’t stop him feeling that need to do so. “It’s a hard thing, accepting what you believe to be a painful truth, only to find out that it’s not the truth at all.”

“Yeah, I can’t imagine...” Fox looked preoccupied, like when they were picking up a scent and trying to process it. For once, though, they didn’t look overwhelmed — it was good to think maybe they were getting the hang of this place already. “There’s a few portions of soup left in the kitchen if they get hungry, but they both seem exhausted. I have no idea what kind of drinks they might want.” Fox blinked and looked up at Cam. Clearly someone else had a one track mind of caretaking, too. 

“Alcoholic, knowing El’s usual strategy,” Cam said smiling ruefully. “And lots of them. I’ll have to see if I have any tequila tucked away.” He shook his head. “I have no idea how she puts it away, I swear she’s got my tolerance for alcohol as well as her own.” Then he realized Fox was still looking up at him and he reached out to catch hold of their hand. “I’ve got them covered Fox, don’t worry. You look after yours, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Fox sighed, resting a hip against the counter by the espresso machine. “Wish I knew how, save carrying them home and feeding them and putting them to bed. Tia’s injury will affect her walking, and Ambrose is practically shell shocked....”

That was a problem Cam could solve and, feeling a palpable sense of relief at being able to do  _ something _ , he grinned and tugged his car keys from his pocket. “Take my car; it’s big enough for the four of you,” he said, placing them in Fox’s hand before they could object. “And I’ve got a good blend to aid sleep somewhere that you can take with you as well.”

Fox’s eyes brightened. “You sure?” Before Cam could respond, their face fell slightly, uncertainty creeping into their voice. “I won’t be able to get it back to you until tomorrow. I can come help open, though, if you need it.”

“Fox, it’s fine, really,” Cam said, hating to see that doubt on their face and wanting rid of it as soon as possible. “I won’t need it again today; Rian lives in walking distance — and that’s if he even goes home tonight, which I doubt is going to happen. You’re supposed to be in tomorrow afternoon, right? Just bring it back then.”

“You—” The kid’s face did this thing where it looked like it was about to repeat their earlier question, but then backed off. “Okay. I’ll come by early, just in case you need me to run errands or anything.” Then they tossed the keys from one hand to the other and clapped the free hand on Cam’s shoulder. “ _ Mil gracias, guapo _ .”

“ _ De nada, zorreño _ ,” Cam replied with a chuckle, giving their hand a squeeze before stepping back so he could hunt out the tea blend he’d mentioned. It wasn’t one he tended to give to customers — the chairs and sofas that littered the coffee shop were more than comfortable enough to doze off in even without magical assistance — but for Tia and Ambrose after the day they’d had, he was sure it would do the trick nicely.

Huffing a laugh, Fox shook their head. “ _ Zorreño? _ Really? What is that,  _ zorro  _ and  _ pequeño _ stuck together? El’s right. You really  _ are _ a nerd.” Fox’s face was just one huge grin as they bumped shoulders with Cam, adding, “I love it.”

The grinning was an excellent look on them and Cam was powerless not to grin back. “One could also make an argument for it being a little bit foxy,” he said, rolling with the shoulder bump and letting it send him over towards the kitchen door. “Which would also be true.” 

“Sweet-talker,” Fox accused good-naturedly over their shoulder as they went back to putting away the last of the supplies and tidying up the counters. “ _ Encantador. _ ”

“You started it,” Cam pointed out, pulling open the first cabinet he got to, trying not to laugh as the compliments kept coming. Not that he objected to a little harmless flirting, even if Fox was their employee — the ten years between them wasn’t that much of an age difference but he was very aware of it, and besides, relationships weren’t his thing. He had also seen how Fox interacted with Quinn, how they were around Ambrose, and the banter that he and Fox had developed over their time working at Rosetta was nothing like either. “Smooth talking barista is my gig you know, hope you’re not looking to steal all my favorite customers away.”

“I wouldn’t actually  _ take _ them from you,” Fox asked with a teasing lilt to their voice. “But look, we can all share, can’t we?” Cam looked over at them, and they actually winked at him. 

Which, on reflection, possibly wasn’t that surprising, but had Cam been a younger man, he would have probably blushed. Instead he settled for a vague approximation of Eliot’s trademark unimpressed face. Genetics really should have been on his side for pulling it off, but the grin he was sporting was severely undermining his efforts.

“Watch yourself,  _ cachorro, _ you don’t want to be taking liberties. I have slaved over a hot espresso machine for years and  _ earned  _ my tip jar full of numbers I will never call. Why should I share them?”

“Go on, old man. Tell us about the good old days.” Cam was hard pressed to know if Fox was teasing or flirting, the two sounded so similar. They wiped down the counter around the espresso grounds knock box with the most exasperating grin on their face. “While you’re at it, complain about how the girls were prettier back then.”

Cam snorted, finally managing to locate the box of tea he was looking for and dropping it onto the counter next to Fox with a dull thud. “Ah yes, the good old days, where young aspiring coffee shop employees respected their elders, nothing on the menu cost more than two dollars, and the girls were so beautiful you had to go to confession three times a week for all the lustful thoughts you had about them.” He held his hand over his heart and tried to look solemn. “Truly a better time.”

Fox laughed outright, and said through a giggle, “I thought you liked boys, Cam.” Then they pulled it together long enough to manage to cross themselves with a straight face and add, “But I’m sure they were just as pretty.”

“As much as I like anyone,” Cam agreed, barely hanging onto his serious expression as he attempted to sound wise and insightful. His accent thickened as he slipped into his best impression of the padre at the church his father still went to. “You have to understand, that is how pretty the girls were back then. Enough that even someone like me was driven to such carnal thoughts by them. Count yourself lucky,  _ zorreño, _ a young thing like you surrounded by such beauty... you would have been in that confessional every day — twice even.”

The amusement somewhat slipping off their face, Fox shrugged, saying, “The church doesn’t like my kind so much. I don’t feel the need to live by its rules.” 

On seeing the shift in Fox’s expression and the words that followed, Cam was all set to change the subject — for all the religious trappings of his childhood, he was his mother’s son first and foremost and it was her teachings he lived by, her magic in his veins. 

Then Fox nudged Cam’s elbow with a sly leer and continued, “Though I probably would have been on my knees just as much.”

Before he could stop himself, Cam’s mouth fell open a little in shock. “ _ Ay Dios mio Fox, eres una amenaza _ ,” he said with a laugh, almost missing the buzz of his cell in his pocket in the process. It was only when the buzzing continued that he realized it was going off. Still laughing, he tugged it free.

Fox just stuck out their tongue, as if it were an invitation somehow, and smiled. Before Cam could even look at who was calling, Fox had turned away to see if any of the flavored syrup bottles were low. They were already starting some of the easier closing protocols. 

Shaking his head, Cam ducked back into the kitchen and accepted the call. “ _Nita_ , is everything okay?”   
  
“It’s fine, Cam, we’re up in the apartment now so you’ve got your storeroom back.”  
  
“Which I appreciate, but that’s really not what I was worried about,” he pointed out, leaning against the wall as he watched Fox bustle around behind the counter, cleaning things up.  
  
“He’s okay, Cam,” Eliot said, sounding fond and exasperated all at once and Cam couldn’t tell if it was directed at him or at Rian. “I mean, he’s not great but shock’ll do that to a person. Plan is to nap, shower, and then get drunk while eating too much food. You gonna join us?”  
  
“Is that your roundabout way of asking me to make dinner?” Cam countered with a laugh. He could hear Fox snort in amusement and shot them a sidelong glance. They mouthed the word “soup” and pointed past him to the kitchen where the crockpot was. Cam nodded in acknowledgement, though he’d probably make something himself upstairs — Fox's soup was great, but he had the feeling something deep fried or smothered in cheese was called for.  
  
“Only if you want to. I mean, we can order in if you don’t feel up to it. I just figure you’d wanna get your mom act on, and drunk-mom Cam is one of my faves.”  
  
“Drunk-mom Cam? Wow, I’m feeling the love right now, El, I really am.”  
  
“ _Shut up, you know how much I love you. Rian does too_ ,” Eliot said, slipping into Spanish, and this time Cam knew the fondness he could hear was directed at him. “ _And it wouldn’t be the same without you. I know Ri would appreciate it if you were there._ ”  
  
“ _Of course I’ll be there_ ,” Cam replied, rolling his eyes, as if there’d been any doubt in his mind. “ _And because I love you both, I will cook_ **_and_** _bust out the good alcohol. I think it calls for it, don’t you_?”  
  
“Best brother ever,” Eliot said, switching back to English. He heard her move the phone away from her mouth before bellowing “Cam loves us! He’s bringing the grade A booze and he’s gonna cook.” The responding whoop from Rian, more subdued than usual but a whoop none the less, had Cam grinning.  
  
“You guys get on the napping and showering part of your plan; me and Fox’ll get the shop closed and then I’ll be up.”  
  
He heard the brush of hair across the speaker as Eliot nodded in reply and waited for the moment where she realized that she’d only nodded, the look on her face as clear in his mind as it was if she’d been in front of him. “Okay, yeah, cool. Sounds good. Give them my love, yeah, and…apologize for me?” The uncertainty in her voice had it wavering down the line and Cam shook his head, his turn to be fondly exasperated.  
  
“Of course I will, _nita_. Now, get off the phone so I can do my real job.”  
  
“You mean parenting me and Rian isn’t your real job?” Eliot countered, managing to sound vaguely hurt before dissolving into a laugh that was echoed by Rian in the background. She didn’t give him a chance to reply before disconnecting the call.  
  
“Brat,” he said quietly, still smiling as he put his cell back in his pocket and stepped back out behind the counter to Fox, who had moved on to doing the dishes that had been left in the bussing tub.

They shook their head at him and said, “You know, El told me early on you were a pushover, and that if I took advantage of that she’d have my head. Seems she’s the only one allowed that privilege, huh?”

“There’s gotta be some advantages to having shared prenatal real estate,” Cam said with a smirk. “And she’s had me wrapped around her little finger since she came into the world, all of twenty minutes after I did. Couldn’t argue the fact if I tried. She’s always got my back, though; been fighting my corner since we were small so it seems like a fair enough trade.”

Fox grinned and nodded in apparent approval. “She's a good one to have on your side. I'm glad Rian has her.” They looked down into the soapy water, adding, “And I'm glad they both have you.” 

“As are they, otherwise they'd have to fund their hot drink habits themselves, if nothing else,” Cam replied, grabbing a dishtowel and starting to dry what Fox had already washed up. “And I'm glad to have them; life’s nothing without the people you get to surround yourself with.” He nudged Fox with his elbow, making them look up at him. “I'm including you in that statement for the record. I'm really happy you came to work here _ , cachorro.” _

A delighted smile broke over Fox’s face like a sunrise. The gratitude in their eyes was nearly palpable. “Hey, me too, Cam. Thanks for hiring me, even though I knew nothing about coffee. I really appreciate having you and El in my life. And Rian. Give him my love when you head upstairs?”

Smiling back — and really, it was impossible not to in the face of Fox’s grin — Cam nodded and, on impulse, wrapped an arm around their shoulders in a hug. “Of course I will.”

Fox rested their head on Cam’s shoulder, which was about all they could do in the way of reciprocating while elbow deep in the sinkful of water. “Thanks, man.” They rubbed their cheek against him for a second, then looked up, eyebrows high. “You think, if I get through most of the closing stuff by seven, I could take off then to get these kids home? They’re wiped out, and Ambrose is antsy. I worry if I make him wait too long, he’ll just get up and leave.”

“I think you can leave as soon as that lot is clean,” Cam replied, having no problem at all with Fox clocking out earlier than they were scheduled to. It wasn't as if the shop was busy, and he'd already been toying with idea of closing early. Glancing over at Ambrose, he also saw exactly what Fox was talking about — for all that the game had lightened everyone's spirits, he still looked moments away from bolting. “You've done good work today,  _ zorreño _ , you deserve to finish early.”

The look Fox gave him was almost too much — too sweet and thankful and relieved and fond. “Oh, Cam. I could kiss you.” Then they smirked and shook a soapy spoon at him, saying, “I won’t, but I could.”

“Well of course you  _ could _ , I mean, I have it on good authority that I am both an excellent boss and incredibly attractive,” Cam said, smirking right back. “But I appreciate your professionalism and respect for appropriate workplace conduct. Now, finish the dishes and get that crew of yours home for the night. Boss’s orders.”

Yes, he was being ridiculous, but Cam couldn't find a solitary fuck to give about it. The smile on Fox's face and how relaxed they were considering everything that happened earlier was more than worth it.

 

~~~

 

The scenery outside the car melted in a bizarre watercolor of street lights, colorful signs, and well-lit windows. It had been so long since Ambrose had been in a car that his stomach lurched a little at the stop-go motion of speeding up and stopping at the endless four-ways along the residential streets. He kept his forehead pressed to the cool window and closed his eyes, fingers close to — but not touching — the door release. The urge to get out and walk, clear his head, was almost physically painful, and his rational mind was able to calculate how little damage he’d sustain if he just popped open the door and hopped out. But it was a foolish, fleeting, ridiculous temptation he entertained only for a heartbeat. 

Fox was a steady, cheerful presence behind the wheel of the car, laughing and joking with Tia. She’d won the victory of the front seat by screaming ‘shotgun!’ so loud that a passerby — a small, darkly-tanned kid with long black hair and sharp eyes — flinched and turned to walk in the other direction. Any other day, Ambrose would have laughed even as he shushed Tia, but, well, today…

Today was a weird fucking day.

Attention span shot, Ambrose only knew they’d stopped at the shelter to pick up their bags when Quinn nudged him. He felt Quinn’s presence at his side as they walked in, picked up their gear, and walked out, but he was, once again, out of words. The silence didn’t seem to bother Quinn, who shouldered Tia’s pack without complaint. Then they were back to the watercolor scenery and the stomach-rolling ride back to Pilsen. 

It was amazing, the sense of relief Ambrose felt the moment the car stopped in front of the house. And not just because he’d grown unused to not having his feet on the ground. Somehow, when Ambrose wasn’t thinking about it, the Pilsen Pack House had earned a star on his internal map. It was a safe space, maybe one of three or four, and he felt his chest loosen and heartbeat slow as Quinn closed and locked the front door behind them. 

“There. Home safe. And it smells delicious in here.” Fox grinned and looked up the stairwell toward the top floor apartment. “That’s Jess’ egg curry, I’m sure of it.” 

While Fox trotted up the stairs to investigate, Quinn smiled softly at Ambrose and said, “Welcome home, big guy.”

The words lit up that little star inside Ambrose, and he felt a twist of gratefulness and tenderness surge through his chest. Quinn had been so openly, physically affectionate with Ambrose that he didn’t feel odd about reaching out and squeezing his arm, grateful smile on his face, before he freed Quinn from Tia’s pack. He eyeballed the stairs for only a considering second before he scooped up Tia, too, ignoring her shrieks of protest as he carried her up to the third floor. 

“Ambrose, I know you love old movies, but seriously?! Do I look like a… the girl with the hat and eyelashes and the cigarette? Audrey Heartburn?” Her protests echoed off the narrow stairwell walls, a weird melody to the rhythm of his own heavy foot falls. She smacked his shoulder as he strode into the living room, but he ignored her. Careful not to jostle her much, he sat her on the couch. “Not a damsel, Ambrose,  _ not _ a damsel!”

He dropped her pack on the couch next to her, then folded his legs underneath him to sit directly in front of her on the floor. He unzipped his bag and peered inside, then stopped to cast a nervous glance at Quinn before digging through the pockets. He kept the question —  _ is Rian coming here? _ — under his tongue and behind his teeth. He didn’t want the answer.

“Oh my god!” Tia shrieked behind Ambrose, and his heart kicked up a notch. He turned his head to glare at her, and she smacked him on the shoulder.

“Look! DL left us stuff! Here,” she said, shuffling around in her pack. She passed him a crumpled, stained piece of paper. “Can you read it for me? My brain still hurts.”

On closer inspection, the paper wasn’t actually clean paper — it was the acknowledgement page of a book torn free from its binding. The side with the book’s acknowledgement was smudged with paw prints and dirt and probably,  _ hopefully _ , spaghetti sauce. The other side was where the note was, written in what Ambrose guessed were the smushed remnants of a dry erase marker. The handwriting was laborious and childlike, with misspellings that would have made Ambrose wince before he’d left the Caste and found out what a privilege education really was.

“‘Dear T & ‘Brose,’” he recited. “‘They found the baby so I’m kicked out. Dunno where I’m going yet but I’ll be around somewhere. You guys stay warm and safe. Hope these help. Love, DL.’” Ambrose squinted and hesitated. “And… the paw print of the baby.” 

He grimaced, knowing full well cat prints did  _ not  _ look like that.

“Paw print?” Quinn asked, stepping closer to look at the paper. “What kind of baby is it?”

“It was a raccoon!” Tia giggled. “I saw it right before we left last time. It had the tiniest feet, and the most perfect robber mask, and a little twitchy tail…” Tia giggled and snatched the note away from Ambrose to hand to Quinn. 

“What’s he doing with a baby raccoon?” Quinn asked with equal parts wonder and shock in his voice.

“He did good for a while, not bringing animals inside the shelter. But then it started getting colder, so, you know.” She shrugged. “DL is special.” 

“Got  _ that _ right,” Ambrose muttered under his breath. He loved DL almost as much as he loved Tia, but the boy was  _ odd _ .

Tia kicked him, almost hard enough to bruise, and he rubbed his arm as Tia continued unaffected.

“He talks to animals,” she said, leaning forward and pitching her voice low. Ambrose knew it was partially because discretion was necessary — in shelters, you didn’t talk about that sort of thing for fear of getting yourself or your friend kicked out or attacked — but also because she was enjoying the conspiratorial glee. “That’s why we call him DL. It stands for Doctor Dooby.”

“Do _ little _ !” Ambrose felt compelled to interrupt. He gave Tia a look before turning back to Quinn. “Dolittle.”

Quinn laughed. “Doctor Dolittle. Of course. He can really talk to them? That’s an amazing gift.” He raised his voice to carry to the back of the house. “Hey, Fox! C’mere, you’ll love this.”

“I’ve seen a lot gifts,” Ambrose said. “I’ve seen folks who can manipulate their thoughts to direct animals, even bugs. But I’ve never seen anyone who can actually  _ talk _ to them.” He folded his arms and shook his head, acknowledging that yeah, he could be wrong, but really? DL?

“You’re just saying that because he likes bats,” Tia said. She leaned so far over the couch towards Quinn that she almost fell off. “Ambrose hates bats.  _ Hates _ them.”

Ambrose shoved her back, perhaps just a little less gently than he could have.

“And anyway,” Tia continued, “animals don’t talk. It’s not like he can actually ask them where the best dry spots to sleep are or anything, because it doesn’t work that way. Something about brains and language centers and non-people tongues. Or… something.” Tia shook her head, then gave Quinn a look just as Fox walked in. “Did you know that cats don’t actually meow to each other as a way to communicate? Only kittens, and mama cats to her babies. They meow at people because they see us as big, hairless babies.”

“And they hear us talking, so they try to communicate the way we do, since we don’t understand their body language,” Fox added. They smiled at everyone and brushed a hand down Quinn’s arm. “What’s up, baby?”

“Mouse knows a kid who can talk to animals. Or, not  _ talk, _ really. But something. He has a pet raccoon.” Quinn grinned when Fox’s eyes widened and they looked at Tia, intrigued. 

“DL,” Tia informed them with a quick nod of her head. “He’s a sweetheart. His folks thought he was insane and wrong for being queer. They already had a bunch of other kids, so he’s been on his own since forever.” She shrugged. “We all spend a lot of time together. Even though Ambrose isn’t a fan of his friends.”

“Friends,” Ambrose scoffed. “I don’t mind his ‘friends’ if they stay away from both you and me. Do you I need to remind you about rabies, and —”

“No,” Tia interrupted. Ambrose wasn’t looking at her, but he swore he could  _ feel _ the roll of her eyes. “Anyway, he gets kicked out a lot. And he recently learned to knit so he could help the, uh, patchier fur babies stay warm now that it’s getting cold out.”

Ambrose thought about interrupting with how not-patchy he and Tia were, but then he thought harder about it and kept his mouth closed. They were, all three of them, rough — skin too thick in some places and too thin in others.

“Look!” Tia said, brandishing a colorful array of knitwork items. “Look what he made us!”

Fox’s thoughtful frown — the product of trying to fill in the gaps of Tia’s story — gave way to a bright smile as they took in the hat and scarf and fingerless gloves DL had given them. “They’re beautiful, Mouse!”

Both Fox and Quinn moved closer to take a look at the gifts, Quinn standing right next to where Ambrose was seated. They cooed over the knitwear, and Quinn smiled as he handed Ambrose the scarf. 

“Try it on,” he said shyly. “It'll go well with your hair.”

It… actually would, Ambrose realized. The scarf was several shades of purple that swirled in a beautiful gradient through its infinite twist. He watched Tia squeak with delight as she pulled on her orange hat and arm warmers, and refrained from commenting on how her curls stuck out through the chunky finger-knitted weave. He pulled his own scarf on, lifted his chin, and turned his head in his best impression of model’s pose. He raised an eyebrow at Quinn, his unsubtle, only somewhat facetious request for approval.

“Beautiful,” Quinn murmured with a slight flush to his cheeks. He reached out and brushed his fingers against the soft strands of yarn at Ambrose's neck. “Suits you.”

“He must have started these awhile ago. It’s been months since my hair was this color. Though that explains why he was less than thrilled when I dyed it pink,” he said, brushing his fingertips along Quinn’s before taking the scarf off and playing with it. The yarn was soft and clean, and Ambrose wondered how DL had managed that particular miracle. He felt a twinge of guilt at missing him at the shelter, even though DL and Tia never seemed to have any trouble finding each other when they really wanted to.

He glanced up at Quinn and wondered what kind of chaos it would be to bring DL here. The residents of the Pilsen house had been generous to Ambrose and Tia, and Ambrose suspected that generosity would extend to any other magical kid without a home running around Chicago. But then he had a vision of the place being overrun by the raccoons, mice, opossum, pigeons, foxes, and even the occasional stray coyote that seemed to follow DL anywhere, and grimaced. Maybe he could be talked into keeping the animals outside — especially if Tia agreed to stay here, too.

“You should dye it purple again so you can be all matchy matchy when we see him next,” Tia suggested. “I like the purple.”

Ambrose shuddered, remembering why he switched —  _ damn bats _ — and Tia rolled her eyes. She spun the hat on her head so the big, chunky flower was on the front instead of the side. “How do I look?”

“Patchy,” Ambrose said right away, and she laughed and nudged him with her leg. She winced and sighed, then gave Fox and Quinn what Ambrose knew was her best sad puppy dog look. 

“I know you just put a shiny big bandage on me, but do you think I could take a bath?” She glanced at her shredded pants and the dirty skin underneath and grimaced. “I don’t want to put on clean clothes until I wash up a little.”

Ambrose hid a snort at the idea that the jeans in her bag were much cleaner than the ones she was wearing. They hadn’t gotten around to doing their laundry in awhile. 

“Of course, Mouse. And we can wash those pants while you're at it,” Fox said, ever the generous host. They looked critically down at Tia’s leg and added, “If they're worth saving.” 

“Don’t bother,” Tia said with a careless wave. “Ambrose and I did pretty well this week. We scored enough to give Mercy Home a nice fat donation, with plenty left to buy some new pants.” She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “There’s a pair of pinstripe beauties I stuffed at the back of the rack at Encore.”

“No,” Ambrose huffed. He pulled Tia’s bag from her and started digging around inside. “Encore is a morning’s walk from here. Maybe next week.”

Tia grunted but didn’t argue as Ambrose pulled out one of her little rolls of clothes. One of the first things she’d taught Ambrose was how to pack, and he still quirked a smile at how clever she was. Underwear, a t-shirt, and pants were all folded together, rolled tightly around a pair of socks. Then the socks folded over the roll and turned it into a liter sized bundle that was an easy grab for a change of clothes. He handed it back to her with a smile, and she laughed. 

“Fine.”

“Have a good bath, Mouse,” he said, affection and gratefulness for her (and DL’s) friendship suddenly overwhelming him. This day would have been unbearable without them. “Yell if you need help.” 

“I won’t,” she promised, getting up from the couch with a grunt. “Need help, I mean. Not, I won’t yell if I need help. There will be no yelling. Because I don’t need help.”

“Well, whether you need it or not,” Quinn said as he held out his hand to her with a sweet smile, “I’m at your service. May I accompany you to the bathroom and draw a bubble bath for you, madam?”

“Oh thank you, kind sir!” Tia said with a giggle. She took his hand and managed a floppy, uncoordinated curtsey (or, what  _ she _ clearly thought was a curtsey) before wrapping her arm around him for support. Ambrose watched them chatter and laugh on the way to the bathroom, waiting for them to be mostly out of sight before he set aside Tia’s bag to go back to his own. 

There it was, tucked safely in the back pocket where he’d kept it for seven years. The drawing was old, but it was on heavy artist’s paper and Ambrose had taken good care of it. The edges had a few creases and crinkles, and there were a few spatters of something or other — he couldn’t remember anymore — around the edges. The little cigarette burn on the lower right half of the sketch had been Ambrose’s final straw (he’d almost cried over that, when it happened), and he’d taken it to a print shop to get it laminated. It meant that he couldn’t trace the lines with his fingers anymore, couldn’t feel the pressure Rian’s careful hands had put into the paper, but it was worth it. The drawing was safe.

Unlike the ink across his back and the work of Rian’s he had seen on the walls back at Cheval’s shop, it was a riot of color. Shades of red, yellow, and orange danced with the same vibrant pink his hair had been back then to create the illusion of flame licking over the paper and, at it’s center, the shape of a bird spreading its wings. Even in the loose and abstract style Rian favored, it was instantly recognizable as a phoenix taking flight, and amongst the flames, feathers turning into sheets of paper (or perhaps sheets of paper turning into feathers, he had never been entirely sure). He caressed the drawing softly, just little thumb sweeps along the bottom, and tried not to think about how seven years might change a man.

“Oh look, how pretty.” Fox was just a few feet away, and shifted slightly to see the picture better, though they didn’t come any closer.

Ambrose didn’t startle, but only through years of practice at learning not to show surprise. He’d completely forgotten that Fox was there, and looked up at them with wide eyes. For a moment a dark, possessive part of his soul wanted him to push the drawing back in the bag, hide it away from anyone else. It had been just his for so long that it was a strange, prickly feeling to watch someone else admire Rian’s work. Had his style changed so much in the last several years that it wasn’t recognizable anymore? Ambrose hoped that wasn’t the case.

“It’s a phoenix,” he said, probably unnecessarily.

“Yes,” Fox said softly. “Did you do...? No, wow, that’s...” Fox took a step back, gaze shifting from the paper to Ambrose’s face, and from wonder to concern. “It’s got a familiar look.” Whether consciously or not, Fox rubbed their compass tattoo, which, Ambrose realized, was undoubtedly Rian’s work.

“Yeah,” Ambrose agreed. He gave Fox a sad smile, then broke eye contact with them to look back down at the drawing. “It’s pretty old, though. I bet his style has changed since then.” 

“Developed. Evolved. You should go to his shop and see what he’s been up to,” Fox said. Then, after a moment of frowning thought, they added, “If you want. When you’re ready.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Ambrose said. “He’s not… he can’t even… that wouldn’t be fair. I shouldn’t even be here. You’re his… and I shouldn’t…” Ambrose’s stomach twisted and he swallowed back a pointless flow of words like  _ I didn’t mean to break a promise, but I did, I took too long, who knows what he thought, I’m so different now, is he different now, how is he? _ Even just thinking the questions hurt — he couldn’t imagine what it would be like to hear the answers. “I should go.”

“Ambrose, darling.” Fox stepped close and crouched down, touching Ambrose’s shoulder lightly. “That’s almost never the right answer. Give him time. Give  _ yourself _ time. But I’m pretty sure leaving again would not make things better.”

Well, that was probably true. Ambrose grunted and leaned back against the couch. He felt like he should talk about it, explain himself, but that seemed like a silly thing to do. At best, Fox would continue being their amazing supportive self, and Ambrose would feel like an ass when he was done whining. At worst, Fox would resent Ambrose’s poor decisions and take Rian’s side.

Except that there were no sides, he reminded himself. He had left Rian and didn’t come back in time to keep his promise. Rian, knowing what Ambrose was running from, probably thought he was dead, or, worse, that Ambrose had been lying about how much Rian meant to him and didn’t come back because he didn’t want to.  _ That  _ was a thought that spiked panic and adrenaline through his system, and he knew he wouldn’t leave now,  _ again _ , just to make sure that Rian would know what really happened. 

If it mattered. Seven years was a long time. Though Rian was obviously shocked and dismayed to see him, that didn’t mean he actually thought about him anymore, that Ambrose had crossed his mind at all in the last half decade until he showed up out of nowhere. Hell, how foolish and self-centered was it to think Ambrose still meant anything to Rian at all anymore. 

“Give me something to do,” he begged Fox suddenly, looking at them with what he was sure was a terrible, pleading expression. “Do you need… I’m a good handyman. I can fix things. Do you have something I can do?”

Fox stroked his arm, their concerned frown never leaving their face. “Tell you what. I’ll go get Jess. Dinner’s almost ready, and I can keep an eye on it for them. They might have some ideas.” They leaned in and pressed a light kiss to Ambrose’s shoulder, then asked, “All right?”

The thought of Jess having to take any of Ambrose’s internal conflict was repugnant to him, especially because he already felt guilty about the fact that he was going to ask them to take Tia’s pain when she was ready to settle in for the night. He shook his head, but after a minute, tucked the drawing back in his bag and shoved it aside. He scooted left to make enough room for Fox to sit next him if they chose. 

“Um,” he started, not quite meeting Fox’s eyes. “You could just…”

Without hesitation, Fox sat next to him and said, “Could what?” They looked down at their wrist with a grimace and added, “The sigil washed off when I did the dishes, so it’s no use.”

“I can do it again,” Ambrose said. He pulled away just for a minute to get a ballpoint pen from his bag — he’d have to be more careful not to hurt Fox, but it would last longer — and slid down so he didn’t tower so high over them. He tucked his head on Fox’s shoulder and pulled their wrist into his lap. Then he hesitated. “I mean, if you want me to.”

Fox grinned and kissed his hair. “Absolutely.” Ambrose hummed and leaned into it, and as he started to draw as gently as he could, Fox asked hesitantly, “So, should I  _ not _ ask Rian to tattoo this on me somewhere?”

The pen skidded a fraction of an inch on Fox’s skin, but not enough to damage the overall design. “You should, if it helps,” he said, clearing his throat. The thought of Fox having  _ his _ symbol permanently on their skin made something inside him spark. 

“Rian picked it.” He held his breath at the admission, but the rush of sadness didn’t hit him this time. Tucked in front of the couch, pressed close together, Ambrose felt a lot calmer than he had all day. Words came easier with Fox breathing steadily at his side, wrist exposed without even the smallest fear that Ambrose could hurt them. It soothed Ambrose, as did the steady work of drawing the sigil. “I think I told you that it’s an anchoring symbol? But Rian is the genius. You should let him pick a sigil for you. This one might work okay now, but there’s probably one that works better.”

“Okay,” Fox said quietly with a nod. “Yeah, okay. I’ll talk to Rian.” They nudged Ambrose’s shoulder gently and then watched closely as he continued drawing, as if they were trying to memorize the design exactly. 

Ambrose nodded and kept drawing, his body relaxing inch by inch as he worked. The sketch took a little longer to fill out with the thin tip of the pen than it did the marker, but Ambrose went as slowly as possible, enjoying their momentary pocket of silence. 

Fox was right. Of course they were. Ambrose couldn’t actually go anywhere, but he knew  _ he  _ was right, too. He couldn’t force Rian into a confrontation; that would be cruel. Instead he would hang out with the Pilsen pack for a few days, let Tia heal. And if Rian wasn’t ready to see him by then, Ambrose could just leave his phone number. He didn’t like to make it known that he had a phone — that was a great way to get targeted on the street — but he trusted Fox, Quinn, and the rest of them to only use it when necessary.

Thinking of his phone flipped a switch in his mind. Imogen was on her way here, too.

Shit.  _ Shit _ . 

All of Ambrose’s favorite people, every last soul in the world that he cared about, was about to be within a few square miles of each other: Imogen, Tia, Rian, DL, Quinn, Fox, Jess, Phoenix, all of the delightful creatures in this house. His stomach did a hard turn, and he swallowed back bile at the thought that they were all like a ripe bunch of low hanging fruit, just waiting to be collected by the Caste.

He took a deep breath and carefully pulled back from Fox, having just realized how tightly he’d been clinging to them in his momentary panic. Fox squeezed their arm and made a gentle, soothing noise.

“It’s okay, hon. You’ve got us. You’re safe here.”

_ Not yet, _ Ambrose thought, a sudden ferocious need to protect everyone climbing up through his chest. Imogen was almost here. And Rian was here. They were two of the strongest magicians Ambrose knew, and if Ambrose could just find a way to make them all powerful, together, then maybe they stood a chance when the Caste came knocking at their door. He’d figure something out — he had to.

Decision made, Ambrose finished the drawing and tossed the pen aside. Sudden exhaustion crept into his body as he thought about how long and horrible the day had been, and how long and hard the next few days, maybe even weeks, were going to be. Not caring just how foolish he looked, he pulled an afghan free from the back of the couch and slid down even further to lay on the floor. He settled his head on Fox’s thigh and closed his eyes, strategizing.

Fox played with his hair and hummed softly, dreamily, as if there was no other place they needed to be, as if nothing mattered but this. 

If only that were true, Ambrose wished. The tiny part of him that was always angry flared a moment, his fury at never being allowed to feel secure a white hot ember burning him from the inside. Its only effect, however, was to fuel his determination to keep Fox, and the rest of them, this blissfully ignorant for as long as he could. 

 

~~~

 

It was only the combination of Cam’s special morning after brew, and a decent night’s sleep curled up with Eliot, rather than any kind of restraint on his part, that had saved Rian from a hangover that morning. Even then, he was still feeling kind of delicate. Eliot had pointed out, as bluntly as ever, that it was more likely to be emotional fallout rather than a result of the alcohol. To be fair, she probably had a point, but given that her tolerance for alcohol verged on superhuman, she wasn’t exactly an authority on hangovers.

Being in the shop helped, though; it was a mindless routine that he could sink himself into. The blinds were open, the floor was swept, and the radio was playing quietly as he began doing an inventory. The counter next to him was covered with bottles of ink as he ticked through his list.

A gentle tap on the window had him looking up, and there was Fox standing at the door with a couple to-go cups from Rosetta and a sheepish smile. It was early for Fox’s normal shift, but Rian wouldn’t look a gift drink in the mouth. 

Smiling back, Rian levered himself up from where he was kneeling next to the cupboard and went over to open the door. “Hey Fox, a bit early for you to be here isn’t it?” he asked, beckoning them inside.

“Had to return Cam’s car. He let me use it to drive everyone home last night.” They handed over one of the cups and smiled. “My choice — well, my guess. I’m not as good as Cam.”

“With your nose, Fox, I’m sure it’ll be great,” Rian replied, accepting it with a grin and lifting it to his nose. Giving it a gentle sniff, his smile widened. “Praline, huh? You do know how to spoil a guy.” Locking the door again, he gestured over to the small seating area by the front desk for them to sit. Really, given that it was only him that worked in the shop, he hadn’t particularly needed a reception area. But the shop just hadn’t felt right to him without one and so he had splurged on a couple of chairs and a tiny couch. None of them were as comfortable as what Cam had next door in Rosetta, but they were good enough for a short spell. If people needed to wait longer then he always sent them to Cam anyway.

“Did, um, everyone get home okay?” he asked, perching on the arm of one of the chairs — just because he had the furniture didn’t mean he sat on it like he was supposed to.

“Yeah. I made Tia and Ambrose stay at our place because of her leg and his...” Fox trailed off and licked the lip of their cup thoughtfully, then gave Rian a quick smile. “They needed a safe place, a hot meal, and some good rest.”

Frowning, Rian carefully popped the lid off what appeared to be a latte and set it to the side, wrapping his hands around the cup and letting the heat bleed into his palms rather than actually take a sip. “Do they not normally have a safe place?” he asked hesitantly, unsure if it was even within his rights to ask given what had happened yesterday.

Fox looked equally unsure as to whether they should share the information, but replied anyway. “They have this thing about keeping on the move. Not really staying in any one place. I think Ambrose feels safer that way, and Tia seems fine with anything, but I worry...”

Rian felt something in his chest lurch, and he narrowly avoided squeezing the cup in his hands. As it was, the aborted motion sent a small amount of the drink splashing out over the side to trickle over his fingers and he let out a hiss of discomfort. He had hoped upon seeing Ambrose yesterday, for all that it had been a shock, that it meant that he had been able to settle somewhere — felt safe enough to do so — but apparently that wasn’t the case. Seven years later and Ambrose was still on the move. The unpleasant tickle of guilt began to squirm its way down Rian’s back and he looked at the cup in his hands like it might somehow hold some kind of reassurances he could draw on. “For sure,” he said quietly, not meeting Fox’s eyes.

“Worried about you too, Ri,  _ bebe _ .” Fox sat down on the couch next to Rian’s chair, which meant they moved directly into Rian’s field of vision. Their eyebrows were high above concerned eyes. 

“Oh you don’t need to worry about me Fox,” Rian replied, trying to smile and being all too aware of how crooked it felt and how unconvincing he sounded. “I mean...I’ll be fine. It’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

Unable to hide the doubtful look on their face, Fox was at least tactful enough to not call Rian on his bluff. “I’m hoping his anchoring tattoo helps him find some balance again,” they said before taking a sip of their drink.

Eyes going wide behind his glasses, Rian once again nearly upset his drink in surprise. Severely regretting his decision to take the lid off it in the first place, he set it down for the moment before he tipped the whole lot over. “He told you about his tattoo?” he asked, his attempt to keep his tone mild an utter failure.

“Just a part of it, apparently. I needed some help with grounding, what with all the smells assaulting me at work.” They shrugged and held up their hand to bare the inside of their wrist. The anchor sigil had been drawn on it, in pen, it looked like. 

Rian couldn’t have described the feeling that hit him in that moment, seeing the familiar symbol somewhere utterly new. The lump that rose in his throat was unmistakable, though, and there was a faint tremor in his hands when he reached forward to catch hold of Fox’s wrist. Turning it over so the sigil was facing up and he could get a better look at it, Rian began tracing it with his thumb. “He drew this for you? Does it work? How are you using it?”

Fox went still and stared at Rian for a moment before saying, “Touch it and picture the little nest of calm he helped me make? It helps block out all the distractions, and then I’m more clearheaded.”

“That...that’s awesome.” Completely different from how it was woven into the piece on Ambrose’s back or the way he had utilized it for himself, but a natural use of the sigil’s inherent properties. Rian was impressed Ambrose had not only thought to use it that way, but had also taught someone else how to do so. It even went so far as to take away some of the sting that came from seeing it on Fox’s wrist, the spark of jealousy smothered by his own intellectual curiosity. “Smart.”

“And effective,” Fox said with a smile. “I’ve been so grateful for it, you have no idea. I didn’t realize how much energy I was spending on blocking out all the incidental smells in the coffee shop.” They set their coffee cup on the end table before adding, “But Ambrose said maybe there was a sigil that would be better suited to help me? I’m not sure if he didn’t want to share the tattoo, or what, but he thought you’d know.”

“Oh.” Rian flushed slightly and let go of Fox’s wrist to push a hand over his hair. “Um, maybe? I mean if the anchor’s working for you and Ambrose doesn’t mind, there’s no reason you can’t use it,” The flush on his cheeks got richer and Rian could feel them heating up, all too aware of the skin on his left arm where the sigil sat as well. Not that he’d been in a position to ask Ambrose if he minded, nor that Ambrose had sole claim to it, but he still always thought of it as Ambrose’s regardless. “But we can find something for clarity or purification, distillation, work it all in. Sigils play well with each other if you use the right ones, no reason why we can’t here.”

“Okay, sure,” Fox said with a slight nod. “I just kinda like the little nest I’ve made in my mind, and I dunno if it’ll work the same way with a different sigil. It’s fine.” They smiled as they looked up at Rian, but while doing so they were brushing a thumb over the ink on their wrist. It was possibly an unconscious motion, but for Rian it was a little too familiar.

“Hey, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” Rian replied, flashing a grin in Fox’s direction and suppressing the urge to trace his own ink — it wasn’t how he used the spell but rather a way he had taken to calming his nerves when he was upset or stressed and, like Fox seemed to be doing, was something that was unconscious more often than deliberate. “You looking to get a permanent version done then?”

“I was thinking about it. Ambrose’s tattoo is really powerful, though. I felt it when he taught me the first time how to use this. I dunno if I need that much power, or if it’s because of everything else you put in the working of it?” Fox winced slightly as they finished speaking. It was the first time either of them had admitted that Rian had given Ambrose his tattoo.

Rian let out a little huff then, maybe not of annoyance or exasperation, but it definitely wasn’t the most positive of sounds, and he shook his head. Getting up, he picked up his coffee and started to walk around as he took a sip, more for something to do than any particular desire to drink it. “So you do know I did it then?” he said, sounding resolute. “I was starting to wonder.” He took another sip of his drink, trying to pin down why exactly he was getting annoyed by a simple acknowledgement of fact and coming up empty handed, with no way to tackle the creeping discomfort in his stomach. It wasn't helped by the prickling sensation on the back of his neck, like someone was brushing all the fine hairs there in the wrong direction.

“No, you wouldn’t need something that powerful. Ambrose’s is a heavy duty crafting, pulling a lot of different duties — we’re talking about hours in the chair. What you’re after won’t need nearly that kind of juice.”

“I didn’t think so. I honestly don’t think I could wield something that powerful. And the fact that Ambrose can is...” Fox picked up their coffee cup and looked into it. “No wonder he’s worried the Caste will find him again.”

“But they can’t track him anymore, that’s what the spell does. After he left Charlotte the trail should’ve gone cold, otherwise what was the  _ point _ ?!”

“I dunno, Ri. But he still seems scared about something.” Fox's voice was calm, soothing even, but their face was lined with worry — and possibly not just for Ambrose. “He doesn't have faith in himself. His instinct is to run.”

“‘Cause running has kept him safe,” Rian said, frustration warring with concern in both his voice and his expression. “And he thinks it's the only way he can keep other people safe, by not being around them.”

“I know. It’s the worst thing. I feel so  _ fucking _ safe when he’s nearby.” Fox’s expression had shifted from worry to something close to despair. They looked down into their coffee again and sniffed. “I’ve gotten him to promise he’ll stay at our house tonight, maybe a couple nights more, but after that...” They shook their head. “I care about him a lot, Ri. And I’m pretty sure you still do, too. If there’s any way you know of convincing him... That is—” they looked up with a calm face, but behind their eyes was the shadow of a plea, “— if you’re okay with him staying?”

"Of course I'm okay with him staying," Ri said, face twisting in confusion. "It's all I've ever wanted him to do, but I..." He cut himself off, jaw snapping shut as guilt and shame rose in his stomach. With them came a roll of nausea and he quickly set down his coffee before the scent of it could make matters worse.

A moment later, Fox was standing next to him, a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, honey. I’m sorry this is so hard.” 

Sagging a little at the contact, Rian placed one of his hands over Fox’s and let his eyes fall shut, trying to take some solace in the comfort they were offering, even if he wasn't sure he deserved it. “It always is,” he said quietly, hearing the crack into his voice as he spoke and hating himself a little for it.  _ Fucking drama queen. _

Fox wasn’t the judgy type, though. They slid their hand down his back and stepped closer to hug him from the side, arms wrapped around his waist, head leaning against his shoulder. “I so want you two to be okay. Would you feel all right talking to him?” 

Honestly, given the veritable shit storm of emotional fallout that had occurred just by  _ seeing _ Ambrose — that and a few words, enough to run Rian off to have a panic attack — ‘all right’ was the last way Rian would describe how he felt about talking to him. Beneath the still lingering shock though, beneath the guilt and the anger and the hurt feelings, there were memories -- of the trust so easily given, of laughing, of the most powerful magic he had ever worked, of candlelight playing over dark skin and brightly dyed hair, and of feeling safe and accepted. Rian opened his eyes and, looking down, turned his arm over so he could see the sigil there. The steadfast anchor. He took a breath, ignoring the way it shook, and nodded. “Yeah, I want to talk to him.”

An intake of breath had Rian glancing at Fox, whose eyes were locked to Rian’s forearm. “Oh.” A hard heartbeat later, those eyes — kind and soft with understanding and affection — were focused on his. “Oh, Rian.”

Aware of his face growing hot, Rian looked down at his arm again, not trusting himself not to cry if he kept eye contact with Fox looking at him the way they were. “He made me feel so safe and calm, you know? So when I started having panic attacks after...well, I was on my own then and I needed something, so it made sense to use it.” He didn’t say aloud just how much he had been missing Ambrose, how he’d wanted to make a mark on his body that echoed the one that Ambrose had made on his heart.

Fox was silent for a long time, just holding Rian around the waist, breathing steadily. It was the best thing they could have done because gradually, Rian felt himself relaxing, the urge to both cry and vomit fading away. Perceptive as they were, it was only then that Fox broke the silence, speaking softly. “I can get something else. Let’s book a time to talk about appropriate sigils and design.”

Feeling a rush of affection towards them, Rian turned and wrapped his arms around Fox’s shoulders in a proper hug, squeezing them tight. “You don’t have to do that Fox,” he said, aware that the gratitude he could hear seeping into his voice probably indicated otherwise. “It’s not just mine to use, no more than it is just Ambrose’s.” He paused before adding. “You are a darling for saying that though, I hope you know that.”

Huffing against Rian’s chest, Fox hugged him back just as tight. “Thanks, dear. But I know something special when I see it. And I can use the sigil if I need to without getting it inked on my body.”

Rian knew Fox well enough to not push the matter and ask if they were sure — one of the things he liked about them was how well they knew their own mind, and if they had made a decision about something, then that was it. It wasn’t his place to second guess or doubt it for his own reassurance. “Then we’ll find you something else. See if it works as well as that compass of yours.”

A bright grin sprung onto Fox’s face, and one arm slipped away from Rian, then into view. “You know, if I don’t concentrate on it, it’ll use Quinn as due north?

“Really?!” Rian grinned back, carefully taking hold of Fox’s arm and looking at the ink critically. “I mean that makes sense given that I used his blood in the working of it. It’s not just his gift but the thaumaturgical link — a part of him being instinctively drawn towards the source.” His grin widened and he looked up at Fox, eyes sparkling. “Magic is so fucking awesome.”

Fox’s echoing grin was delight and awe and joy and excitement all at once. They nodded enthusiastically. “Right? So cool.” With their standard — yet always surprising — impulsiveness, they threw their arm around Rian’s neck and bounced up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Thanks, Ri.”

There was a brief moment where the two of them wobbled but Rian kept them upright with only the smallest step backwards, arms squeezing around Fox a little tighter — as much in affection as it was to keep hold of them. “Any time kit; me and my machine are at your disposal.”

“ _ Muchisimas gracias _ , _ lindo _ . I’ll take you up on that,” Fox said with a giggle and one last fond hug. As they pulled away, they touched Rian’s forearm lightly. “I also might send a certain someone your way soon, all right?”

“All right,” Rian echoed, managing to keep hold of his smile despite the sudden rush of nervousness that felt like it was squeezing his throat closed.  He nodded his head, hoping that the motion might clear the feeling away. “And tell him...” He stopped and looked around at the shop he had put together with a faint stirring of pride swelling in his belly. “Tell him he can find me here, yeah? That he’s welcome here.”

Fox’s smile was a little watery and their breath left them in a rush. “Yeah. Yeah, I can tell him that. He’ll be so happy. And scared, but yeah.” They bounced on the balls of their feet, then spun around to go pick up their coffee cup. 

“Happy?” Ambrose being scared Rian could understand, his own nerves were testament to that, and it had been so long that they’d seen each other that any kind of reunion would be an uncertain thing, but for Ambrose to be pleased to see him after everything that had happened... “You really think so?”

Spinning back around to look Rian in the eye, Fox paused a moment before nodding, but the certainty of the gesture was clear. “I do, Rian. Yes.”

Rian felt torn; caught between disbelief, because surely it was too good to be true, and relief that it might be. If Fox could believe it, though, and with such conviction, then he was inclined to as well. All he found he could do with any certainty was smile helplessly, his hand going to trace over the sigil once more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come join in on The Mundanes universe at [themundanes.tumblr.com](http://themundanes.tumblr.com)  
> There are introductions to the world, headcanons, ficlets, and faceclaims on the blog.  
> We always love having more people writing more characters, in Chicago or wherever you want.  
> Let's populate the world with Queer Urban Magic kiddos!


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